Look Before You Listen
by Here Strikes Dawn
Summary: Ed and Al have been missing for six weeks. Nobody knows where they are. Can Mustang and his team find their beloved hothead in time? But more importantly...will the Elric brothers ever be the same again? Warning for language/torture
1. Capture

Welcome to Look Before You Listen. I'll warn you now - this is going to get incredibly dark. I'll next update on Sunday.

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Capture

For as long as he could remember, he had always been by his brother's side.

 _No, don't…_

And for the first time in an eternity, he felt ready to move forward in his newly reclaimed body.

 _You can't…_

They had done it. They had got his body back.

 _Not him take me instead…_

Al wanted to smile.

 _Don't you dare!_

But…fate wasn't on their side.

 _I CAN'T LEAVE HIM!_

 _Nothing_ seemed to be on their side.

 _WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK-_

A month ago, Al wouldn't have believed that anything could have been worse than getting his soul ripped away from his body. Look at how wrong he had been…

* * *

 _~One month before~_

"How does this vanilla sundae taste so good?" Al muttered hazily. Ed could see it in his bony complexion – absolute happiness at indulging himself with ice cream. He was already on his fifth helping and Ed was finding his pockets become lighter and lighter. Hell, Al had five years of over-indulging to catch up on. He didn't care about how much money he wasted today.

Despite the bright sky of summer that even made Ed feel ridiculously happy, a scowl settled over his face. He was being reminded of someone who could swim in the wages they earnt, and still was as miserly as…well, nobody else. _The bastard,_ his thoughts softly growled.

At least Ed wasn't a skinflint like the Colonel.

Suddenly without his appetite, Ed dropped the spoon which had been sitting in his mouth, dripping with melting ice cream. It landed into the bowl with a clatter. Al looked up; his golden eyes alight with surprise and worry. "What's the matter, Brother?"

"Mm? Oh, nothing Al. Just not hungry," Ed pushed the bowl towards his brother, tilting his head down at the bowl. Al had finished his fifth portion, and must have been eyeing Ed's untouched serving. Al picked up his own spoon, and lightly took a scoop of strawberry ice cream from the bowl and was lost in his sensory paradise again.

A ridiculous smile spread across Ed's face. It was so damn irritating that this was making him so damn _happy._

Ed stretched his arms and legs, hearing the familiar clink of his automail as gears whirled inside the prosthetic. His ports were becoming a little numb – it was getting cold, and becoming late. There was perhaps an hour of sunlight left, at most. And still he wore his gloves and cloak. Al must always be embarrassed walking around with him in public.

But his red cloak made him feel so _pumped_ that Al would just have to deal with it.

He gazed at the clock situated in the middle of the plaza, a cobbled street from this historic town called…damn he didn't care about the town's name. They were here, they had good food, and that was all that mattered. It was somewhere out in the east near the border…Hell the sun was making his mind foggy.

Ed heard Al sigh contently as he pushed his finished bowl away from him. Now Al would have to learn what it was like to be bloated for the next couple of hours. _That_ was going to be a fun experience to watch. "Any more ice cream for you, Al?" Ed teased.

"Ughhh," came the discernible moan from Al in response.

* * *

The train was supposed to be departing at 8 O'clock that evening. Ed's legs tried to crouch and lie down on their own accord, and he had to command every inch of his willpower to stay awake. It was approaching midnight. And still, there was no sign of any train.

They had been lucky to find a bench to sit on. The wrappers of sandwiches were scattered by their sides. Ed's eyes were drooping and heavy, distracting himself by counting how many cobbles there were as far as he could see. Al had exhausted himself; he had been asleep on Ed's lap for an hour or so. Ed wasn't too sure. He was exerting all of his focus on staying _awake._

His reactions were delayed because he blinked and the next second, someone was shaking his shoulder. They were speaking to him, but his mind slurred at the words as if they were in a foreign language. He couldn't speak Cretan or Xingese…

What was this person going on about? They were the conductor – train cancelled – due tomorrow – find accommodation – have to leave.

"Bloody children these days," the conductor complained under their breath. But Ed's ears pricked like a dog's. _Children._ Someone had called him a child. Someone had called him-

"Who are you calling so small that an ant is a giant?!" Ed shouted vehemently, shocking a half-asleep Alphonse. The conductor suddenly looked terrified and backed away a little. "I have grown an inch in the past year I'll have you know!" Ed continued to rant, pounding his arms in the air in frustration. Their little fiasco was attracting some attention, notably the attention of security.

"Sir, I apologise-" the poor conductor waved his hands apologetically.

"That's really going to help," Al added, rubbing his heavyset bags beneath his eyes, as if etched there by blackened ash, but the conductor didn't seem to grasp the sarcasm – he continued to echo apologies across the train station.

"Nobody listens – or cares – but I _am_ becoming taller! Just you wait until-" Ed stopped stamping his feet on the cobbled pavement beneath him. A cold hand had just clasped his shoulder. A looming, hulking figure with larger rippling muscles than Armstrong stood an inch behind him. And this man was scowling, without any sparkles to add to his finesse as the Major had.

This bodyguard did not look too happy.

* * *

Ed sneezed. Despite how sweltering the days could become, and his automail seemed to steam like a frying pan, it felt like he was in Drachma at night. It was so goddamn cold. He huddled close to his suitcase considering he had lent his cloak to Al who was stumbling by his side, cloak draped over his shoulders. Small smoke clouds billowed where his breathed, illuminated by the streetlights. The pair of brothers resembled how the Colonel and Hughes looked stumbling from a bar with these senses a _little_ astray.

It was later than late. It was early. Early enough that everyone was asleep. Except for him and Al, even though Al was the one who needed to sleep the most.

Guilt stabbed at Ed's chest. He had been selfish and driven by his desires not to be called short. Even Al with his malnourished body was already the same height as him. It was petty, he knew, but his height was one of the things that he wanted to have pride over. Still, nothing would do as an excuse. They had to find somewhere for Al to stay, a warm bed where he could sleep for a week if he wanted to. Ed didn't mind – not for his little brother anyway.

He would mind if it was anyone else. He wasn't a goddamn babysitter, and he wasn't a goddamn _child._

Why did people still call him that? Ed's golden eyes glowed in the darkness, unreadable and lost in thought, teeth gritting subconsciously. Strangers would call him a child since he was sh-, shor-, _that._ That he could understand. But even people he knew, like the people he saw on the streets, staring as if he was a freak, whispering the words of _so young – so much potential – a dog to the State – poor boy – poor child._ Joining the military had been his choice, damn it! Ed just wanted people to stop staring at him with eyes of pity. He was nearly sixteen. And he hadn't been a child in a very, very long time.

It pissed him off.

"Brother, we're here," Al said, his teeth chattering in the cold. Al must have directed Ed down an alleyway and he was standing before a musty building with the word _Vacancies_ imprinted on its cover. It smelt like decay and rubbish. The aroma to the place was off and cold, with an icy tint to it; this place was unwelcoming. But like his stomach growled for food, his mind growled for sleep and his duties as a big brother kicked in. Anywhere would have to do as long as Al could be safe and warm.

"Let's go, Al," Ed spoke, and realized how weak his voice had become, as if it was a ghostly tune lost to the wind.

"Ed…are you alright? You seem _off_ ," Al asked tentatively. Of course Al noticed that Ed was distracted tonight. But Al had just confirmed the suspicions in his mind – something was off, something drifting in the air. He couldn't explain it, but it was like a gut-wrenching twist in his abdomen that told him something was _wrong._ Not right.

"I'm fine, Al, it's just…strange, and I can't seem to pinpoint it," Ed shrugged and pushed his way to take the lead. He saw through the corner of his eye that Al was moving forward to keep up with his pace. He cried silently as he lost his balance, and tumbled to the floor. As if his tiredness could be switched on and off, Ed darted to Al's side and swiftly caught his gentle brother in his arms. Al's face was blue, and he had become too weak to shiver. _Dammit!_

They needed somewhere to stay. And now.

Ed hoisted Al's arm over his shoulder. He couldn't see Al's expression, but he was breathing faintly, too faintly for Ed to be comfortable with. Unease flickered through Ed like a jolt of alchemy. He shook the feeling away like he was shaking away bugs. He didn't need doubt in his mind now, as dangerous as a parasite.

The front door to the building creaked slowly open. Ed's body instantly stopped shivering and he started goddamn sweating. This place was stifling, as if a volcano was situated behind the door. Al shuddered. So it was not just him.

Ed's boots echoed across the reception. There was a desk with sheets of paper and keys behind it. Most of the keys were attached to the wall; this hotel wasn't too popular with the locals or tourists. However, as Ed silently peered closer, the weight of Al heavy on his shoulder, he noticed the phone wire had been severed. The papers on the desk were collecting dust. And there was only one pair of keys missing from the wall. 013.

Suddenly, the lights in this room shuddered off, like a person taking their final breath. Ed silently growled in frustration and moved Al's weight to his other shoulder. He had to get his arms free…to transmute.

The lights in the room next door flickered on.

The tingles of alchemy leapt to Ed's fingers like flames. He crouched to the floor, letting the blue light of alchemy wash over him as he removed a transmuted rod from the pit he had left in the ground. A loud _thump_ followed of the doors being locked shut.

"Oh fuck," Ed swore. There was far more of that to come, he regrettably knew. A part of him wanted to sprint away as fast as possible, but with Al, he wouldn't make it out of the building. His face was drenched with sweat, pooling on the floor by his sides. He felt like they were trapped in a furnace, breathing heavy, strained.

 _Damn it focus, Edward! There is someone dangerous here. No ways of contacting the bastard – phone lines severed. Must be another way. Just have to deal with it ourselves…_

Ed took a hesitant step forward, blending into the shadows. Yet as he moved, every light in the building flared back on again. An acrid stench filled his nostrils. He gazed down at his feet, sickened, as the inky tar-like flow of blood lapped at his feet. He hadn't noticed in the dark but he had been wading in blood. Crimson, stagnant blood.

"What the Hell is this-" Ed clasped a hand over his mouth, eyes agape and body frozen in shock, horror, horror-

Someone clapped. Someone fucking _clapped._

"Excellent! You came!" a voice exclaimed in apparent delight. They seemed unfazed by the sea of blood.

Ed grasped at Al, shrugging his brother, hoping he would wake up. They had to get out of here why did he even want to come in oh God-

Ed bared his teeth and lashed out with his rod. It waved through empty air. He started backing away towards the desk. He prepared his hands to clap, and the lights started to dim again. Not again.

The resonance of his clapping sounded across the room. Ed's gloves and sleeve ripped apart as his automail blade slipped forth like a dagger. It was growing, forming, as the hum of alchemy controlled his concentration…

Someone with inhuman strength grabbed the tip of his blade. With a wrench, it was pulled backwards and dented. Just like that. The lights were flickering. His boots were soaked with blood. The air was stifling hot. Ed was panting, feeling feverish.

Damn he couldn't give up now.

He clenched his steel fist and pummelled it forward, hoping to smash at his attacker and disorientate him enough to grab Al and get out of here. With his left hand, Ed felt his brother's silky golden hair. He was alright and here. Now to attack.

His fist flew forwards. But it was stopped. Just like that. The inhuman force touched the metal, and dug into his palm. Even if he couldn't feel it, his shoulder felt like it was being wrenched in half. He bit his lip, stifling a scream.

The force did not stop there. The pressure vanished for an instant and returned, digging into his arm, pulling at wires, grinding gears and _pulled._

It was the most painful sensation Ed had ever felt in his life. Automail was a thorn in his foot. Having his leg and arm ripped away from him a graze. This was like someone was pulling him apart.

He had to hold back a scream with every ounce of strength he possessed. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees into the sea of blood. His mind was an inferno, every tip of his body wreathing in agonising fire. It burnt and fuck it hurt and oh God he was pulling harder and _harder._ Imagine an insect's body being twisted until it popped into two pieces. Ed had seen his classmates doing it once at lunchtime.

But God it wasn't supposed to happen to _people_.

Now he was being twisted too, churned and chewed with unbearable strength. He was as still as could be; moving caused more pain like shooting stars to blaze up and down his spinal cord. It wasn't supposed to be this painful-

The air. Wasn't right. Felt off. Contained gas? Inducing receptors for pain?

 _"_ _GODDAMN!"_ Ed's mind shrilly screamed, but he didn't care about his own pain. He couldn't scream out aloud…it wasn't fair after what Al had been through…but God it hurt…He would swallow molten metal if it meant keeping Al safe. And yet Al was here with him but he was still unconscious. _Please Al you've got to get out of here. You've just got your body back. You've got to live._

After twisting came the _shredding._ Every inch of his shoulder port was being ripped into a thousand pieces, skin, metal, wire. It was all the same. Being pulled apart as if it was cotton. Ed kicked out he had to transmute something. So much iron in the _blood._ Come on…

Howling at the force of agony pulling at his automail, Ed closed his eyes and dipped his hand into the viscous blood. It was gloopy and nowhere near as runny as he thought it had been. He sketched an array onto the back of his palm, and slapped as soon as the last drop of blood had dribbled onto it.

As alchemy hummed through the air, Ed struggled to move away, kicking, snarling, biting, trying to get some distance to he could throw his transmuting dagger into the attacker's leg and hold them down if for a second-

But Ed lost all ration thought as his shoulder port, horribly dented and broken, was wrenched off his shoulder. He felt nauseous. Wires still dangled from his remaining port, blood ejecting from the wound as if pumping out from a syringe. His blood.

The dagger must have finished transmuting by now. It had to have finished transmuting by now.

Holding his breath, he clutched his hands around the dagger.

Which was not there.

Which meant it either hadn't transmuted or someone had grabbed it.

It couldn't have been Al, meaning-

Time slowed down as Ed's golden eyes widened in disbelief. Disbelief was an understatement. For a second, pure terror flashed in the Fullmetal Alchemist's eyes. The face of the attacker became visible in the flickering light – cold pits of eyes, teeth stained with blood, black hair soaked with sweat – their muscular hand held a weapon – Ed's dagger – and he was lunging as if from nowhere from Ed's right side-

And the dagger buried into his automail port.

 _AL!_

 _A….l…._

 _…_

But that was only the start of the pain that the Elric brothers would feel. Unbeknownst to them (even after so much goddamned suffering already), there was much, much, much worse pain to feel.

* * *

The story follows canon up until the Fifth Laboratory but then deviates. Look Before You Listen takes place several months after the Fifth Lab and Ed finds a way to get Al's body back. Ed still has his automail.

Roy's team and the Elric brothers are aware of the existence of the Homunculi and know how a Philosopher's Stone is made, but beside this, they do not know much else.

Details will be covered during the story. With that, please enjoy the rest of LBYL :)


	2. Gloom

Gloom

 _He screamed, his mind swimming in pain. In_ agony. _So much pain so much pain so much goddamn pain. When would it come to an end it had to come to an end he couldn't put up with it for any longer._

Edward jolted awake. A bright light had flashed in the corner of his vision. He was disorientated, and he had the biggest thumping migraine, as if he had another heart pumping inside of his head. But his surroundings were completely swathed in darkness.

So this is what a hangover was like…

His awareness spread from his pounding brain across the rest of his body. It was a morbid thought that he had to count his limbs each time he awoke from a nightmare.

One, two...no, definitely not a third or fourth.

Goddammit. He couldn't _feel_ the automail. But there was a phantom pain that was shooting along like stars across his absent limb, coursing like liquid fire through his shoulder port.

He groggily opened his eyes, wincing at the slightest movement. Sharp cuffs dug in at his wrist – he was manacled, and a quick wriggle of his right foot indicated the familiar presence of a chain. His leg was gone, although that limb wasn't in as much pa-

Ed pulled awkwardly at the manacles, held fast to the dank room he was being cooped up in like an animal. He was shirtless, and his chest was damp, slick with sweat, but in the darkness the sweltering smell of something salty and metallic touched his senses. He shuddered back, feeling grotesque and nauseous. His head was still swimming in an ocean of confusion. The gloominess of the place was suffocating.

The movement jostled his shoulder port. Ed winced; he didn't think pain could actually be this damn painful. It was a struggle to think and grasp for a cohesive thought-

Nothing came to mind.

He knew one thing for certain – this was wrong.

This place, him being chained to a wall coated with his own blood; it was all so morbidly wrong.

And that was when he noticed the breathing. Not his own, but huskier, deeper breathing of an older man. It sounded like grumbling machinery.

Wait was this man – laughing?

"Ugh…" Ed tried to speak although only a groan would escape his lips. He tilted his head back, feeling the blood swish around in his brain like the contents in a frying pan.

"Ah, look, you're awake. Excellent!" Ed crawled back against the wall like a mouse scurrying to be away from a cat's gaping jaws. His forehead was damp, but he wouldn't dare move to brush it away. Maybe if he remained as still as he could-

He was running away…that wasn't right…that wasn't like him? He wasn't sure…

"Oh, sorry about that!" the voice sounded cheerful, eager. Goddamn enthusiastic. There was a click of a button and the world flashed around him. A dusty light bulb flickered on. Ed squinted – the light was so bright and caused his eyes to tear up. He had been in the darkness for so long…light felt strange. Unusual. "The drugs should begin to wear off in a couple of minutes!"

However, Ed's next reaction was to shirk back and recoil. That light had outlined the menacing figure sitting on a stool by a bolted door. He was whistling serenely, his messy black hair knotted loosely into a ponytail, which was slick. He was well-groomed, his clean-shaven face glistening like pearls in the hazy light. Muscles bulged beneath his shirt, although he was slim and probably only of average height. One of his legs was resting on the other, and he was slouched over, dressed casually in a button-up and trousers. He was wearing black studded boots that were lined with something white. What white "something" this was, Ed didn't know.

It was damn hard to think right now.

All he could process was fear and fascination as the man turned his hazel eyes onto his. They were large and rounded, like an owl's. He had a hand resting on his lap, holding the switch for the light and the other was pointing directly at Ed.

"You…" the man said, his sudden cheerful tone switching to being horrendously morbid and sinister. Ed felt his blood pressure rise drastically as his heart rate accelerated; this man looked like he was pointing straight into Ed's soul, as if those hazel eyes could see _everything._

This time under than unnerving stare, Ed stared back. Strength was flowing back into his veins like water being given to parched flowers. He felt his jaw tighten, his muscles tense. His shoulder seemed to shiver, but he pushed the pain that lanced with it to the back of his mind.

And when he looked back, he saw how cold and unfocused those eyes were as if this was a veteran of war, used to the presence of bloody death. There was a sense of hopelessness and defeat and desperation. A desperation to do anything. The man then started laughing.

"You…you're the first person to stare back. It has been long enough… I'm glad. Hopefully this means I can talk back to you, man to man," his legs were twitching; he was also fiddling absent-mindedly with the remote still resting in his lap. He was agitated, something clearly on his mind.

Why wouldn't anything damn coming back to Ed's mind? He couldn't remember, he couldn't think…all he could think was blank white like a distorted memory. He felt like he was forgetting something really important…

"Who the hell…are you," Ed growled, his throat dried. He didn't have the energy to be asking questions; he would demand and take like the spoilt brat he was. He had lost all of his moisture through blood and sweat. And…tears? He didn't want to delve into that-

Wait. _Spoilt brat?_ That reminded him of something, like a bloody religious calling, as if the phrase "spoilt brat" would help enlighten him or something. He didn't know. He just wanted to remember what he was forgetting…

"…"

"Nothing to say, bastard?" Ed raised his head coldly.

"I have no name. That is why I said nothing. I thought that you alchemists were masters of common logic? I presume that this conclusion of mine was a little far-fetched-" the man pondered, lost amid his thoughts, whatever the hell they were.

"Get me out of here, dammit!" the blond struggled at his restraints when suddenly-

Thump.

Pain. A spiralling frenzy of pain caused dots to appear in his vision. It felt like someone had sent a rippling shock wave throughout his insides. It was his automail been stabbed and ripped apart all over again…

Wait.

Shit.

Holy shit.

His automail. The hotel. This madman capturing him and his brother.

"Alphonse! Where is he – I swear if you have done anything to him you bastard I'll rip you to shreds-" Ed screamed, lashing out fully. The drugs were beginning to wear off and even though the pain was worse than the wrath of Hell pouring through his soul, he would take that. He couldn't ever forget about his brother.

 _Spoilt brat._ Oh. Ed grimaced as he thought about whom that would entail…a certain Colonel Bastard (keep remembering brain keep doing your job) but he couldn't care about that now. He had to make sure his brother was safe.

 _What if Al was hurt?_

 _What if Al was hurt and you were passed out here unconscious having a casual conversation with a madman?_

 _What kind of brother does that?_

Ed blinked trying to blot out the tide of thoughts which were flowing around in his mind. At least his mind was starting to _function_ again. That had to be a start.

He shook his head. He didn't have time for pity or self-denial. He wasn't a worrier for goodness sake.

He was an alchemist.

Luckily he was pressed with his back to the wall. And even if he didn't have his automail arm, he had something that the enemy wouldn't be able to anticipate – an invisible drawing medium. His arms were clammy, but if he could draw a transmutation circle accurately, then the array should be able to activate and he would bust Al and him the hell out of this place-

"Oh, you're inquiring about your brother? You should have said so!" the nameless man had suddenly changed his tone to becoming jovial and upbeat once again; it was a shift that Ed found unnerving. He reached his left arm slowly behind him, reaching up to where the manacle was chained to the wall, and pressed his fingers against its cold stone surface-

And the man moved to the side. He stood up and brutally kicked the stall so it _smashed_ into the door. It shattered into splinters. Ed flinched. The man's face was expressionless and that made the action even more sudden. Ed didn't care because he saw a figure hunched over behind the smashed up stall-

It was Al. His head was slumped over; his face blotched with bruises, his wrist bent at an awkward angle…

Ed couldn't bear to look but he did because that was his brother and it was his fault for dragging Al into his mess _again._ It was his responsibility to get them out of this.

"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL! GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!"

Ed had finishing etching his array and he slapped his palm into the wall. He waited for the familiar rush of alchemy to tingle along his fingertips and for the manacles to shatter beneath their power. He would break free and punch that bastard in the face and make him pay for every ounce of pain that he had caused Al-

But nothing happened.

The one time he needed alchemy was the one time that it wouldn't bloody work. He snarled in disgust at his uselessness and lashed and kicked and pulled against the manacles in any way that he could. The pain was unbearable and his shoulder was being crushed but he didn't care. He had to get to Al-

"That won't work, little alchemist. I have to ensure you don't cause any harm to my facility with your…hmm…magic tricks," the man picked up the remnants of his stool. "That's a shame, I really did like that stool."

How dare he.

 _How dare he!_

He didn't give a damn about hurting Al. Goddamn why wasn't Ed here on his own what had his baby brother ever done wrong except eat too much ice cream because he hadn't goddamn had the capability of eating for five years. Al had been desperate to eat ice cream; it was the third item of food on his list after quiche and apple pie. Ed had taken Al to the renowned ice cream parlour in Amestris situated deep in the East Area. Ed had watched in enjoyment and bliss at Al being gluttonous…for once.

And this shouldn't have been the first time. There should have been countless more visits to the parlour. Al shouldn't be caged here in this prison; he hadn't sinned. It had been Edward who had bound Al's soul unwillingly to the armour and caused their mother a second death. He had a lifetime worth of debts he was going to repay to Al. His brother wouldn't accept charity, but he would definitely accept food (a ravenous appetite didn't seem to belong to Edward alone).

The ice cream parlour was just the start.

If this madman – who was throwing his remote delicately into the air and catching it, completely ignoring his surroundings – wanted to hurt Al, he would _hurt_ them.

"I SWEAR IF YOU TOUCH MY BR-"

"Take him," the man whispered. "And perhaps when you are more cooperative we'll discuss about matters later. I won't fail again…" his voice was lost to muffles as he unhinged the door and sealed it shut again; its sound made Ed yelp.

And still Al didn't respond. His head was slumped heavily.

Another second passed and the lightbulb had extinguished to next to nothing. There was enough light cast for him to see Al's delicate figure outlined by shadow; etched in the darkness, his form resembled that of a person in a tranquil sleep.

A feeling inside of Edward clicked - the perfect blend between a surge of protectiveness for Al and adamant frustration to be out of this place before that madman returned them. Edward wanted to embrace his brother tightly – Edward wanted to scream at this heartless world for abandoning the brothers in the dark. Alone in the gloom.

His anger temporarily forgotten, Ed tried to struggle at his manacle. He was several feet away from Al, and if he hadn't been so goddamn short he would have been able to nudge Al with his foot. "Al come on you've got to get up."

Ed scraped his skin painfully as he inched across the ground, cold and numb to the touch. However, before he had stretched a metre, his lungs demanded that he paused to retrieve his breath back. He hadn't even being any goddamn exercise other than hurling out his fury at the nameless man who prized a stool over human lives!

He was more resentful towards his own useless body than he was towards anything else.

And as he had lived to become accustomed to the automail in the place of stumps, being given the latter again was strange.

In a reality where he still had his automail, Ed could almost feel the automail attached to their ports and he imagined struggling with his metal foot – also bare – to reach towards Al. He would bend his toes and extend his leg with the control of his nerves, and be able to prod Al.

However, reality surged back in when the stump of his leg began to wriggle helplessly, like a worm trapped on the surface of the earth, and Ed stared back down in disgust. He had no goddamn automail, although his body believed that he still did. Pathetic.

His arm was a different matter. Now that the "drugs" had taken away their numbing effect on his brain, Edward was sensitive to each particle of dust that became trapped in his port, like fireflies becoming wedged and trapped under the layer of his skin. While they wriggled, his skin tingled.

He attempted to turn his head to the right to inspect for damage to the port, although instantly his shoulder and neck muscles spasmed in synchronisation like to the beat of a discordant symphony. Ed had barely moved his head at all. The sensation until all that tingles remained, and these morphed into throbs that spread across the shoulder to his right thorax and neck. Moving his right side was strenuous, as if half of his body had inflated like a balloon.

However, the worst part was how warm and red the wound had become.

Ed wouldn't dare consider touching it but he imagined lifting his finger towards a cherry hot poker and burning himself alive. He would have experienced the same type of pain by touching his port. He winced at the thought, but he knew he at least had to look at the goddamn wound. If he wanted to escape, he couldn't just collapse after taking three steps due his shoulder being so severe.

And he looked down. The fatigue, the nausea, the swelling, the _heat_ suddenly all made so much more sense. He didn't need to be a doctor to know that the wound was infected.

It was like staring at a minute volcanic eruption expanding across his body. A rift of red swollen skin was bulging around his shoulder, and he could see each of his muscles straining and tendons stretching, his skin covered with a sickly sheen of sweat; the network of veins tracing his skin was as clear as the moon on a starless night. As Ed's eyes moved closer to the shoulder, the red skin became crimson and black, lined with pus and dried matted clumps of solidified blood. Nobody had bothered to patch up his goddamn wound.

It resembled something more skeletal than human.

Although he wasn't surprised nobody had dealt with the infection, what surprised him was the extent of the damage done to his shoulder port over such a short space of time.

The skin around his shoulders was covered in nasty purple blots of bruises like spilt ink. And then another layer of infection had wrapped nicely over the bruises. Ed's head ached in numb confusion – this wasn't the kind of wound that could just appear on his body overnight; the damage must have manifested over several days…

How long had he been knocked out for?

His stomach twisted at the thought of looking at his shoulder port directly. But he wasn't going to wince out like a coward now. His eyes moved from the clotted blood to the bruises, passing over the network of bulging veins-

Shit.

Some of those veins were wires. _Wires._

His skin had interlaced and woven over the wires of his automail like a tapestry, snakes roiling loose along his port. And at the centre of the port, a huge orange-green wound had literally _shed_ parts of his shoulder port away. The metal had fought a resilient battle, although the remnants of his automail were peeling off, like corroding iron. Ed, when he had moved his shoulder unwillingly, imaged the wires knotting beneath his skin and the metal pressing even harder into the infected wound-

He would just have to make do with his left.

But that meant if he was trying to escape from this hellhole (he had only been conscious in this room for less than an hour and that surmised his feelings accurately of the place), he would have to replace his automail arm.

He knew that his infected wound would become more painful. And while it was now localised and restricted to his shoulder region, it had already begun to spread along his back and neck and thorax. Ed hated feeling this useless, but he had to receive medical attention soon. He felt giddy and nauseous and his throat so parched he felt that his insides were a desert. The one good thing was that his hunger was suppressed, especially after seeing that horrible wound.

Ed shifted but didn't feel discomfort; he hadn't leaked and he definitely wasn't fitted with a catheter. Unless someone had been taking an unconscious blond to the toilet, his lack of…bladder release was strange too. Ed quickly looked over the rest of his body. It was numb and heavy-feeling, although each part of his out-of-balance body moved in accordance to his sluggish brain's commands. He reached out his left arm and flexed it forwards and backwards, craning his neck to his expanding and retracting diaphragm.

Even though he was shirtless, his trousers still remained, offering him some little valuable warmth.

And there was his biggest concern for the moment. He was shivering and felt colder than being buried beneath a layer of ice. While his shoulder port was throbbing and heat emanating from that, the rest of his body was riddled with fever. As if to confirm his suspicions, Ed wiped away another layer of sweat from his forehead with a flick of his palm. He was losing precious body heat, and fast-

However, those exercises of co-ordination had left him breathing heavily again. He wished he could transmute…

But he needed that goddamn limb to transmute. _However_ , he thought gratefully, _at least I should be able to find my leg. I should be able to walk._

This room had somehow been sealed so alchemy would be of no use. There appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary about it, no secret button or special lever which stopped the flow of alchemy. Under usual circumstances, this would have been Ed's priority to work out, although he wouldn't class this as "usual".

In the dim light, Ed could see shattered pieces of wood that belonged to the stool NoName had hurled against the wall. The wall itself was damp and a dull grey, the colour of storm clouds, made out of a type of stone…He scratched his brain for answers…but the damn fever seemed to have suppressed his basic alchemy knowledge. His five-year-old self would have known what the material was…

Perhaps the drugs hadn't worn off entirely; he hoped that was the case. Alchemy was second nature to Ed like a shadow, and without he felt lost and defenceless.

He shook his head slowly, careful not to tilt his neck too far to the right. A part of him wondered if he could shake the fever from his brain. But again, his delusional thinking didn't prove to be particularly fruitful.

The rest of the prison was darker than the night sky; Ed couldn't discern much else in the darkness. He didn't know how large or small the room was, although he was sure that the door was their one exit out of here; there didn't seem to be a window or piping system to escape through.

Ed tried to focus and he closed his eyes. A pungent odour trickled into his nose, smelling of decay and mould and damp and fever. He smelt carrion and disease and rotting food not even a stray dog would consume. He could hear the _drip drip_ of moisture trickling down the walls, plopping into puddles which must have been scattered across the ground. However, the rest of the silence was unnerving – it wasn't this silent even when he slept.

Hmmm. Sleep. That sounded good.

 _Come on, Elric. Not now._

Sleep sounded idyllic to his exhausted and weary body, sapped of energy through fighting an infection. Hmm, maybe five minutes would be alright…

And then Ed heard something. A groan.

A groan that caused Ed to snap out of his delirium and fever dreams.

Al! How the bloody hell had he forgotten about his brother-

Goddamn useless brain.

Ed wrestled his drained body and shuffled into an upright position, his left wrist tugging at the cool metal bite of the manacle. He was stretching out towards his brother, inching forwards again with his right leg. Even after moving a fraction, his head was heavier than lead. All that he wanted to do was sleep…

However, the protection the older brother felt towards his sibling kicked in like adrenaline. The pain didn't matter; nothing mattered apart from getting to Al. Even in the darkness, Al's patchwork of bruises was illuminated. Ed inched forwards again leading his left side pain-staking and slow towards his brother.

The distance that stretched between him and Alphonse seemed to have expanded; the gap between them yawned with the depth of a chasm. Fatigue was clutching him at the heels – one heel, his automail leg was somewhere – as if he was being dragged away from Al. With each step he took forward, Ed was being dragged two steps back and he was gaining no distance on Al-

When suddenly, the bulb flickered, and beams of light reflected from the glass. Al's features became as clear as day to Ed; the older Elric started shaking.

Al's muscles once lean and skinny had been harrowed down to raw bone beneath his skin. His cheekbones were elongated and sharp, his closed eyes heavy, sunken pits. His head and shoulders seemed too large for his malnourished body. He was fully clothed (if a green shirt and dark shorts could be classed as fully clothed) but they were torn and laced with dirt and blood, but he didn't have any shoes. Protruding from his toes were curly, orange nails which hadn't been cut or maintained in a long time. But Al always took such great care over the body he had lost-

Ed was distracted by the greasy, dishevelled hair that nearly reached Al's shoulders, which possessed the texture of straw, and was the same dull, matted colour. No longer did his cropped golden hair glow like sunshine as Al always seemed to be; this Al had been locked in the shadows and separated from the light.

But Ed hadn't even registered the bruises. They swirled across Al's body like tattoos varying in every degree of colour – purple to navy to black to green – of the twilight hues. Some were as small as a coin while others were as large as his fist. And some had even started to heal to only have a fresh round of bruises applied; there were multiple ridges and bumps where the older and newer wounds overlapped.

It was sickening and how the hell was this fair. No harm should ever come to his little brother!

A part of his mind wanted to scream towards Al and tell him to wake up. The same part of him convinced him to fight with all of his willpower against the strength of the manacles attaching him to the wall and cause them to snap off. He wanted to kick down the door and force his fists into every goddamn person in this place and he would carry Al all the way home. If anyone even looked at Al, he would fire a death glare at whoever stood in their way.

And yet if his fever brain brought him any consolidation, he knew that plan was ridiculous. If he was in full health, and neither of the brothers had their physical impairments – namely Ed having his automail – and unlimited alchemy at their disposal, it might have been an option to consider. It still would have been goddamn reckless. Ed's protests and shouts at NoName had been ineffective as well and that time, he had hurled a stool at the wall. Ed didn't want to think about the other possibilities-

They were stuck. They didn't know where they were or how long they had been trapped in the darkness for.

When he had been held a captive in Liore, he had known the city and what a phony Father Cornello was. All the Fullmetal Alchemist had had to do was stall some time before he had usurped the plans of the fake priest to the entire desert town.

Al had made that option a possibility.

Ed pushed himself forwards. His left side was straining as far as it could go, but a portion of his right side was slumped against the damp wall. He was so close now. Ed was in the position where his leaning closer to his left side than right, head reaching forward, braid a mess, and the manacle on the wall stretching as far as it could. He had fully moved his left side, but in order to reach Al, he would have to hook his right leg around Al's folded legs and push himself closer to his brother. Ed didn't think that simple actions like poking or prodding would wake Al from his unconscious state, and he didn't want to make too many loud noises. They couldn't afford NoName returning – and this time he could return with other things – instruments of torture. Ed had to suppress a shudder.

The blond however had to move the right side of his body. Even though the gap between the brothers had shrunk to half a metre, Ed still needed that _push_. With his left side stretching as far as he could, he would need to move his right side to cross the distance. But that meant-

The sickening blend of pus and blood and infection swam through his mind. Ed bit his lip to the point where it should have drawn blood, but even his goddamn capillaries had given upon him now. A thought, a single thought, of the pain he would be in if he moved a millimetre, let alone half a metre, was almost worse than experiencing the pain itself. He should have braced himself or prepared mentally for the pain he was going to feel, like he did when he had his automail reattached to his nerves.

And yet when Al groaned in his unconscious state one more time, Ed closed his eyes – there wasn't time to think or prepare when Al was in danger – _nothing else_ mattered when Al was in danger. And he hurled his body forward-

He hooked his leg around Al's ankle-

He held on for dear life when suddenly-

The pain knocked him full force; it was like being winded. The breath was drawn from his body as if someone had blocked his windpipe.

Ed had been reminded about how he had needed Al in Liore – he had needed Al _everywhere._

Ed closed his eyes and swore and prayed and held onto that one single thought to prevent himself from screaming into the cavernous silence. Al wasn't the one who needed him, but he was the one who needed Al. Al was here - he wasn't on his own and _fuck his arm was in agony-_

If having his automail removed had been like being pulled in half, this sensation was like he was being shred into tiny pieces, and each pulling sensation was twice as painful as the last. The atrophied muscles and tendons stretched beneath his skin and the wires dug in in addition to the thumping agony of the infection coursing through his blood. Ed pulled his flesh hand against the manacle to keep himself from falling unconscious. Sweat was visibly dripping down from his face now – he tried to stretch his tongue to lap up the precious moisture, realizing this strenuous exercise would not be helping with the inconvenience of dehydration.

Here Ed was hanging from a wall like a Jack-O-Lantern, cut out and hollow.

He managed a weak smile.

There wasn't time for feeling weak or useless because when Al needed him, that desire overrode any ounce of pain that he might have been feeling.

Edward had to wake Al up and they were going to get out of here…together.

Ed firstly had to re-position to leg which was holding onto Alphonse with barely enough leverage. He couldn't free his manacled wrist and so instead used his foot to nudge his brother's ankle in the hopes that Al would escape from the clutches of unconsciousness.

"Al, come on Al, you've got to get up now," Ed whispered but Al didn't stir. His raised his voice by a minute pitch – usually loud enough to wake Al up with – although today, luck wasn't on Edward's side. He cursed quietly under his breath and flicked his braid out of his face; his bangs were obscuring his line of sight.

Damn, that was it.

Edward leaned forward, his body silently screaming, and he winced as his leg stretched even further than it had before. His toes curled and touched Al's damp hair. The younger blond stirred uneasily, restless in his fevered dreams.

Because he definitely had a fever. Ed could see the whorls and lines of black shadow etched beneath his brother's eyes. His skin was boiling to the touch, although the Elric was also shivering profusely, expending pressure energy as his body tried to regulate his fever-wrecked form. "Al, we've got to go!"

Al didn't open his eyes.

"Please, Brother," Ed shivered and hunched over, his body wanting to relax and stop stretching and curl up and sleep. His foot slumped and fell on top of Al's left hand.

Ed's hearing was attuned in the quiet and damp, and he easily heard Al stir. Alphonse's golden eyes flickered open, cloudy and misted, but focused as soon as he saw the golden eyes staring back into his own. A kaleidoscope of emotion danced through Al at that moment – relief, pain, euphoria, exhaustion, joy, confusion, shock, horror – and Al screamed.

 _"NO GET OUT OF HERE BROTHER!_ " Al's voice wasn't just loud, it was deafening. Al looked as if he had been possessed by a maddened spirit, lashing against his chains, shaking his body in denial about the fact that Edward was here with him. His voice sounded cracked and frayed, as if he had not spoken in a long time or like the time when they had lost their voices when they had screamed for so long when they were children…

Al had been screaming. Al had been hurt by these people.

He was frightened like a feral cat.

"You shouldn't be here. He promised. You can't be here!" Al cried again, and he was panting, exhausted from the strain and effort it must be to stay awake. Al knew more than he did and had likely been subject to more horrific things than Edward. It made his stomach knot in sheer disgust. Al's body hadn't fully recovered - it wouldn't have for many more months yet – and now it would take longer for Al to return to his normal healthy state.

Al should be watching the stars in Resembool. He should be watching the sunset or the sunrise right about now. Edward wasn't sure what time it was; time had no construct here.

"I'm not going to leave you, Al," Edward said softly. He had to attempt to calm Al down. Al's head snapped around, and he watched Ed's lips move carefully. The blond shuddered and let his shoulders slump and he tried to lean forward to get closer to his older brother.

"Please go away…" Al murmured, and then fell heavily against the floor of their prison, and Ed's chains rattled and protested heavily. He didn't give a fuck as he pulled closer to Al but he could barely touch his brother when Al goddamn needed _him._

"We're going to get out of this Al."

 _-Lies.-_

 _I wouldn't lie to my brother..._

 _-Hmm, we'll see about that.-_

"Brother. I'm s-scared." That was it.

"Don't you say that, Al. Everything is going to be fine. You've just got to breathe – everything's going to be okay. The Colonel Bastard has to find a way for us to get out of here – he owes us that much." But the prospect of the Colonel coming to rescue them was very, very grim. They were in the middle of nowhere, starved and riddled with infection. And Al-

Was everything going to be alright?

 _-Now you're getting the right idea.-_

 _Piss off._

His whole body was in pain; if anybody else was in Ed's situation, they would be writhing on the floor in agony. But he was the Fullmetal Alchemist for Hell's sake. He was a brother.

"We need to find a way to transmute these chains – and create an escape plan. We're going to be alright Al," lies for his brother – there was a deep knot in his chest – he hoped they weren't lies he was telling Al.

Al didn't seem to hear him. He was staring at the floor, his eyes dim and unfocused, and he was muttering to himself. " _Bad, bad, bad. No no no NONONO NOOO!"_

The last came out as a scream, a rich, contorted recipe of a scream blended together with agony, torture, loneliness, horror, _fear._ The prison stank of fear.

 _"_ _NOT MY BROTHER PLEASE."_ Al's eyes were hazy, a fog of tears.

Ed suddenly didn't give a shit about being bound or not. He tugged and yanked and pulled against the chain with enough force to dislocate his shoulder. Anything to give him some distance. He felt like his hand was being ripped off, and his wrist had a stream of viscous blood dripping with distinct splatters on the ground below. He would likely get a permanent scar where the manacle's cool metal bite dug into his flesh. Ed forced his arm away from the wall inch by inch.

However, he realized, starvation had actually been incredibly useful for him. His bones and skin were gaunt and every ounce of fat had melted away into nothing as his tired body resulted into using his own flesh to keeping his organs functioning. The thought scared him more than slightly. He could hear Al muttering, lost in the panicked haze of his own mind, a retreat that Ed couldn't get to. Al wasn't listening.

Ed felt his wrist twist and suddenly his hand slipped through the manacle chain. It twisted much too violently though. There was a dull _snap_ as several of his fingers broke with the contact.

But he was free (even if his leg was still chained). He hadn't been awake for an hour, and already the prospect of being free was like a blessing.

How long had Al been awake for?

Edward didn't have to think. In less than a heartbeat he was smothering Al and he pulled his little brother close and vowed to never let go. Initially Al flinched slightly at the contact but then relaxed as realization spread through his soul. The Elric brothers were with each other now, and Ed hoped he conveyed to his brother that he wasn't going to leave his side.

Some things didn't need to be expressed with words.

* * *

Roy Mustang stared at his clock in the office. 2am.

Not much of a surprise.

It was only him and Hawkeye in the office. Hughes was somewhere, and probably Armstrong too. They had become all too familiar with military HQ over the past six weeks.

A stack of folders rested on his desk.

"More paperwork, Hawkeye."

"..."

"Are you not going to lecture me, Lieutenant?"

"Get back to those files, _Roy."_

 _Roy._ She must have been pissed off. Well, in truth, they all were. The Colonel was trying to make light conversation, but that didn't fucking help. He still felt as shit as he did now as he had six weeks ago when he had found out his lousy subordinate had got himself kidnapped. Hawkeye had to keep his gloves hidden from him (that was all that had stopped him incinerating the whole of Central City).

He hadn't slept in four days. He hadn't eaten in two. And he had been living on caffeine solidly for a month, with whiskey poured into his drinks more frequently than not.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was exhausted and near breaking point. There were no leads, no clues, no hints. If this was a game of hide and seek, they were losing miserably. They kept searching and searching, but they had become no closer to finding their target. Fullmetal's captor.

They had one clue: East. Fucking East.

He started to giggle, and soon he was in utter hysteria. He slammed his fist against the table, crying out "East!"

"Take a break, will you, Sir."

For once, Roy had to agree with his Lieutenant. He rose shakily from his chair, grabbed the closest bottle of alcohol he could find and tottered to find Hughes in his office where he would laugh and drink some more and beg that the world would end.

* * *

 _Second day, second update. Not too bad XD_

 _This chapter had to set up locations, timings etc. so I hope it wasn't too slow. Things will get, um...more intricate next time. I hope this doesn't turn into a crackfic XD_

 _I hope you enjoyed. Chapter 3_ Voltage _may even be up tomorrow. We'll see how the writing muse goes._


	3. Voltage

Voltage

"Rise and shine, my dear alchemist!" The trill of a voice like a songbird awoke Ed from his slumber. For an instant he thought it was the voice of his mother calling him from breakfast after he had had a _long_ lie in. He had always read in bed late at night. And every so often, his gaze would shift from his book to stare at his brother's sleeping form by his side before returning to his alchemic text.

He had taken his "big brother" duties very seriously as a three-year old.

The logic in the world had been very simple for Ed: he would do anything in the world of Al.

Even though the Elric brothers had changed (dramatically in appearance), they would go through Hell and back for each other.

Edward's eyes flickered open as dizzy recognition addled through his brain like an adrenaline shot. The voice spoke once again, although it had become terse: "Rise and shine."

The blond boy's head was swimming – the dehydration was finally getting to him. However, his stomach did not gnaw in hunger; Edward felt as though he couldn't eat another bite of food in eternity.

And his port was still throbbing. He wriggled his other hand experimentally and to his surprise, he had not been chained to the wall. He glanced around the rest of the room – non-existent hackles rising – and realized he was in the same positon. Scattered across the floor, broken chains were piled loose around him from his "breakout" last night (or morning, or afternoon).

- _You could use them, you know.-_

 _Fuck off. I'm nowhere near finished in this world yet._

He was resting his head on Al's shoulder. His brother was restlessly shifting in his sleep, but he was nevertheless dreaming. His body needed as much of that as he could get before they planned to escape.

That thought would have to wait…

The nameless man had returned. He was perched on another stool (the shattered remnants of the previous stool still in the same place as before) and was musing over his fingernails, as if they were more interesting than the Fullmetal Alchemist and his brother.

"You bastard," Ed growled, struggling to rise on his only foot. He hated being so damn short, but he hated being crippled so much worse. He turned and placed his hand against the wall (body was trembling, pulse was racing) and spat at the man's face.

NoName didn't move out of the way or bother to wipe his face. The saliva trickled down his face and the twisted-sick-morbid man licked a droplet. He raised an eyebrow in evident surprise. "You're bleeding..."

Ed then became cognizant about his bleeding lip (he had been biting down so damn hard). He hobbled into a protective stance to protect his brother.

The man's hoodless face suddenly _sharpened._ It was like an alchemic current had been drawn across his features with the change from relaxed to _fearsone._ Suddenly, he was standing upright; suddenly, his lips were pursued; suddenly, his steely gaze made Edward flinch.

"What do you want from us, you bas-" Edward didn't finish because the man started screaming.

 _You're bleeding nonono you're not supposed to inflict anymore injury upon yourself without my saying so!"_

"What the Hel-"

The black-haired man lithely moved forward to stand in front of Edward, breathing heavily, the scent of decay and blood heavy on his plain shirt. "I think this is a sign."

And the man drew out a dagger from his back pocket. Without so much as a word, he sliced vertically from Ed's left elbow to his fingertips. There was a thick, wet _slash_ as the weapon imbedded into his skin, and sprays of blood accompanied the blade's biting touch. Edward's feet staggered, but it was his good arm (his only arm) and he wouldn't dare scream.

Impeccably clean palms (how were they so goddamn clean?) clasped around his wrist, squeezing and controlling the flow of blood into a vial that had materialised from the man's back pocket (had he been planning this the entire time?). As Edward struggled against the hold, twisting and snarling and biting, his body was feeble, and he was panting without exerting any force. His head lolloped as he attempted to catch his breath, and he watched through his bangs as the blood poured not into a vial, but an _ink bottle,_ for the man to use as an ink for his pen.

"Yes, I will need to record this in my journal. Thank you, Edward, I was running out of blood!" the man had started to giggle to himself. Horrified, Edward looked down at his arm and saw multiple, similar scars vertically tracing his arm. The scent of infection was heavy in the air.

"Leave my brother alone, you bastard," Ed growled. Those cuts were just another reason to add to his mental list of "Why I want to slit this bastard's throat".

"I can agree with you on that, Edward. I've already finished my work on him…" the man mused sadly, as if he had grown bored of his little toys. He could twist and break and sew them back together again, but when his toys became boring, there was nothing he could do except replacing them with shiny, new toys.

And Edward was the new toy.

If Al was the old one-

He had been _used_ by this man for his torture games. Because that was what toys were used for, _games._

His little brother had been hurt.

 _How dare you!?"_ Edward hissed, and without considering his weakened, infection-riddled state, he lunged at the man and bit down as hard as he could on his neck, hoping to draw blood. His overgrown nails slashed and clawed as he attempted to pierce skin. He howled like a wounded animal as he was kicked brutally down there, lifted high into the air, his flailing limbs useless like a fish out of water.

" _Bad"_ the man said. And he flung Edward into a wall.

The effect was similar to the smashing stool. But all that Edward could register was a whirlwind of pain and snapping bone. There was a popping noise as well as his right leg dislocated. Ed was reeling, his world spinning as he battled against waves of nausea and unconsciousness which wanted to take him hostage.

While he was spinning, he was also falling. The ground could have opened up and swallowed him up whole for all he knew. He had become disorientated and confused (if he wasn't so already) and he curled himself tightly in a ball hoping to make this pain go away-

"Three broken ribs, dislocated right leg, left collarbone broken," the man listed off emotionlessly. He glided to Ed's side and lowered his head until he was but inches from the boy's face.

 _Bad"_ his voice rattled. Despite feeling as if he had been thrown off a cliff (which could have happened for all he knew), he proceeded to spit in the man's face one more time.

"Fuck you."

"Ha! Excellent! Now we can move onto the next phase. You are a willful one, are you not, Edward? _Good_ ," the man breathed the last word, as if he sounded relieved.

Hands went around his rest and Ed struggled feebly, but his chest was hurting (stab, stab, stab with each breath he took) and he was being slung over the man's shoulder.

" _No, Al! I won't….leave my brother!"_ Edward screamed as he was being taken towards the door. he pounded his left fist against the man's skull, but his blows were harmless; the man didn't even glance up.

"Oh, Edward. You should have said so! Of course you can remain with your brother. Luckily we have the equipment set up at this station as well. We only move our guests during the procedure for…health and safety reasons."

 _Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit._

"Guests" - being restrained and tortured against their will. "Station" – their prison.

Edward was hesitant (and oh God he was afraid) about what the "equipment" was.

"Just, leave my brother alone. Don't touch him," Edward choked on his breath, his chest rattling painfully. The infection in his arm throbbed. If only he could focus on that pain, breathe and _focus,_ and perhaps it would help control his giddy head. He closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on the infection, on his burning skin, on the lacerations. He chuckled lightly.

This was worse than automail that was for sure.

Hidden in the corner of the room, disguised by shadow was a single chair and then, next to that, the _equipment._

"Now, I said that this room prevents you from using alchemy…" the man lifted Edward down on the chair. His hand and leg were restrained quickly and methodically, like he had performed this procedure one too many times.

"All of the alchemic energy that our guests use, it's transported into this device here," he tapped his hand upon the device fondly. "And then we can amplify that power to harness what we would like! Think of that potential!"

Edward glared at the form of the man's shadow, which seemed to be stretching and wrapping its touch around every speck of light he saw. The room suddenly felt _colder._

He shivered.

Ed knew what that could do. He knew why he was here, despite being as disorientated as the Colonel Bastard without coffee.

The pain in his arm was starting to come back as he was distracted. _Focus._

"What are you going to do then, bastard," Ed stated, although his voice wavered. He didn't want to give the impression that he knew what was about to happen. He sure did. But he didn't want to give No Name the advantage of knowing he was terrified.

 _Just don't touch my brother._

 _-What if they have already?-_

 _Al…_

 _-Hmm, some great big brother you are. Didn't you swear to protect him?-_

 _I will protect him and follow him into Hell._

 _-Well good luck then, because here we are.-_

"This machine provides the alchemic current. And you are the magnet, dear alchemist. The energy from this machine is drawn into you as the energy seeks a vessel. If you can overcome its resistance, you are free to harness its power at will!"

The old alchemic texts mentioned nothing about this. They were old, as were many of the traditional methods of obtaining power through alchemy (the Philosopher's Stone). However, industry was sailing through Amestris faster than a riptide. Alchemy was evolving and shifting. There were new ways to control its power.

"But so far, every alchemist wasn't able to overcome the residual charge; your brother came closest, but it wasn't quite _there._ I've hypothesised that the greater the alchemist's innate ability, the more likely they are able to overcome the resistance! And so you, Edward…"

His brother had been used by this machine like he was nothing but mindless energy?

- _But you lost his body and left him a barren soul. Didn't that mean he had just become mindless energy to be used up?-_

"Piss off!" Ed cried as he lashed against the restraints.

"We had better get started before your drugs wear off anymore. Otherwise the pain you'll feel will be considerably worse…"

Edward heard the flicking of a switch, and suddenly, the lights above started to twinkle and flash strangely. They seemed to disconnect from the ceiling, dancing, twirling fireflies that bobbled in front of him, glowing with a radiant orange tint. It was a mesmerising sight, and his whole world became focused on those lights, as if the contained every wish and hope that he wanted to come true.

He wanted to touch the lights, but his hand recoiled when they started to crackle with alchemic energy. He tried to back away, but he was pressed against the chair and there was nowhere for him to hide. The lights were twisting and shifting now, morphing into something grotesque. They were now maroon, drifting closer and closer to his fragile form.

They may have made contact. They may have never made contact. Because Edward closed his eyes, ending the vision and screamed.

The only sensation his brain could compare it to be was the feeling he had when he transmuted. When he was transmuting, he had perfect control over the shifting of energy coursing through his connected hands, the array blazing in his mind as the alchemy bent to his will. However, this sensation was reversed. He had no control as the alchemic energy started _eating up_ at his very consciousness, draining his limited supply of energy.

And then in his foggy brain, over his shrill cries of pain, Ed understood that NoName's methods for starving his "guests" were methodical. When the body was under a huge ordeal, it would pump more energy into resolving it. And so his body was expending more energy than it would have done if he was fit and healthy (would he ever be again).

The energy was leeching his soul like a parasite would suck blood from its victim.

The pain in his arm intensified, the world a series of blinding hues of black and red and orange flashing lights-

His screaming ricocheted off the walls, climbing to a sonorous pitch.

Fuck it hurt.

 _Fight it, keep quiet. Al suffered so much for you…_

 _-He did, didn't he.-_

 _Not now, I don't need you now._

 _-This is the Truth, Edward Elric. It's bad to tell lies.-_

The alchemic energy had completed draining his soul of energy, leaving his body exhausted, and he wished he could sleep for eternity. But that energy now had to go somewhere. It started to burn through his body, inside out, starting from his heart, as if it was travelling down his bloodstream. He kicked his foot against the floor and shouted and his fist flailed outwards in every direction.

The contorting and constricting feeling that had manifested then quickened and reached every corner of his body. As if waiting for the right cue, it suddenly sent a spark of pain so overwhelming Edward doubled over and vomited bile and blood onto the floor. It was like a voltage had switched off the muscles throughout his skeletal frame (except for his heart and those muscles keeping him alive). His body became limp. Paralyzed.

The pain was somehow worsening, but he couldn't scream or kick or bite, he could do nothing but wait and watch with panicked, bulging eyes.

He waited for his heart to burst.

Bile was collecting in his throat, but he was so weak he couldn't even hack it up. It swirled in his throat for several seconds and its acidic touch slipped back down his throat. It went down the wrong way…he should be coughing…paralyzed muscles…but he started to choke on his own vomit…

That was when he heard the laughing.

It was a delighted sound, a high-pitched cackle of pure euphoria, as if the person had everything he ever desired wrapped tightly in his fists.

- _You are an abomination, a creature of the Devil.-_

 _No, I'm Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist._

 _-Where did that get you? How has that helped Alphonse?-_

 _He felt this, all of this?_

 _-All of it, and so much more.-_

Edward's screams fell dead. Hell, it hurt. Of course it fucking hurt.

The pain was lancing through his form like wildfire, an unquenchable burst of flames that not even rain could diminish. Flashing lights danced before his eyes and the dim echo of a madman's laughter reached his ears.

He didn't give a shit about his own pride. If he had been unconscious for a month and a half, then his dignity would have been stripped from him (literally), but he wouldn't speak.

He wouldn't let them do anything to Al.

The torrent of pain was beginning to subside…the machine must have been finishing what it was doing…

He waited until it dulled down. He expected the pain would be with him for the rest of his life after his form had been mutilated the way it had.

And then: punch, punch punch. Three consecutive punches one to his abdomen, one to his chest, and one to his skull. Each fist connected with brutal strength, leaving Edward's head staggering.

NoName. Ed didn't have time to react as the monster re-plugged the machine from over the top of his heart straight into his infected port. He flicked the switch again.

His port was made of metal, an excellent conductor. The energy would pass easily through. And there were scraps of metal and wires lodged under his skin-

Flash. Burn.

He couldn't-

Instantly, he knew he couldn't-

 _-What about your brother?-_

 _Fuck that._

Pain, so much pain-

He was being burnt alive-

- _You don't know what that feels like.-_

 _FUCK YOU!_

He wanted to die-

Die in that chair and get it over with-

Die-

DiediedieDIE-

 _-Hmm, stooping so low. Amusing.-_

 _JUST LET ME DIE!_

Let me DIE-

And it ended.

Edward closed his eyes.

 _-It's rather fascinating how quickly a person's resolve can shake.-_

 _I did_ not _mean that..._

 _-People never say it aloud. But you thought it. You wanted to die.-_

 _No, no, no..._

 _-You wanted to leave Alphonse all alone without a second thought. You were only concerned about ending your own misery.-_

His trousers were uncomfortable and while his muscles had relaxed, he had leaked (so little dignity you even become incontinent, you worthless fool).

Al was still unconscious; his body must have taken a toll for having alchemic charge being passed through his body like lightning. He had no energy to fight…why did he have no energy to fight?

Something dawned upon Ed's mind, as if it hadn't been obvious enough already. Perhaps it was the pain allowing him to comprehend these things, forcing his mind to think.

Focus.

His infected wound (pulsing and throbbing) couldn't have just...appeared. It must have been festering for days...weeks...months. Roiling and rotten like the pathetic boy he was. He hadn't been able to protect his brother at the hotel and even now, he had been so damn useless.

In truth, he didn't want to know how long he had been held captive for. But it was his _duty_ to find out how many days he owed Al, Winry. The prospect that it could have been _months_ swallowed him up with more anger than he thought was even capable for a hothead.

How many tears and sleepless nights did he owe them?

 _-Too many to count.-_

 _I can't think that right now..._

"Bastard – how long have we been your…guests?"

"One month, two weeks and six days," the man rattled off as if he was a child reciting their alphabet.

Edward reeled. He had been unconscious…for that entire time? For that entire fucking time?!

- _You knew you were weak, so it shouldn't come as a surprise to you.-_

"What did you do to my brother?" Edward hissed.

"He wasn't willing to co-operate, until we threatened to torture you that was. He was then very complacent. A very good boy," NoName nodded his head, his hands shaking as he continued. "We resumed as normal after that. Standard procedure."

Standard procedure.

 _Standard fucking procedure?!_

Ed tugged at his restraints. And then, a very simple thought triggered in his brain. If he was at the machine now, then why couldn't he just transmute?

He started laughing and dug into his lip - he could hardly feel it - and blood coursed down his lips, past his mouth-

And then-

NoName tugged at Ed's gullet. Ed couldn't swallow; he couldn't breathe.

He wheezed and panicked and stared at those soulless eyes possessed by the Devil. What if that bastard turned on that machine again or his port-

He tried to speak but no sound came out. He wanted to holler and scream at Al - get his brother to leave.

 _"Bad."_ the black-haired man whispered, and he let go.

"ALPHONSE GET UP!" Edward screamed. His throat was dry from screaming so much. Suddenly, a wave of nausea caused him to choke up his remaining stomach contents, and his head reeled even more (if that was possible).

Al didn't wake up.

"Please, you've got to see the world, you don't h-have to wait here for me, l-little brother..." Ed stammered. He had not stammered throughout his entire life. Al didn't stir, but he was breathing heavily like an innocent child. He didn't deserve this shit.

 _-Oh but you do.-_

"Did you want your brother awake? You should have said so!" NoName moved as quietly as water. He was by Edward's side one moment and the next he was stamping on Al's wrist. His very broken, mangled wrist.

The younger Elric awoke to wholesome agony as if served freshly on a plate at an unlimited buffet. A buffet of suffering. Al choked back a cry and turned his head from side to side in evident confusion before he turned to catch sight of his battered brother. He didn't speak; the words gurgled at the back of his mouth. But Ed saw the tears, hollow tears being shed like rain, dripping onto Al's filthy clothes and broken bones and spiraling tattoos.

His teeth was chattering, and it was only by reading his lips that he understood that Al was speaking, " _Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry..."_

The words however were oddly slurred, as if his brother had lost sense of the flow of vocabulary. The tiny sliver of cohesive thought began to put the pieces of the jigsaw together. Al had sounded slurred yesterday, as if he was severely hungover. And Ed knew that couldn't have happened, so there must have been another cause.

 _"Sorrysorrysorrysorry badbadBAD..."_ Al continued to slur and mutter, shivering and staring at the ground at empty puddles, his for quaking. His eyes were lampless and dull. Ed couldn't bear to see his brother like this. They had to be together and even though they were so close to each other, the blond had never felt so far apart from Al...

As if a deity had answered his confused and discourse prayers, a very, very old memory came forth in his mind's eye. Ed had been young, but not too old. Maybe it had been when he was three-years-old. He had been reading an alchemy textbook titled _The Fundamentals of Alchemy - the Mind, Body and Soul._

With his photographic memory for anything alchemy-related, Edward remembered the words concluding the second chapter: _To Be an Alchemist -_

 _An alchemist is not a scientist; we are not one and the same. While we pursue answers to this life and universe, there is one key factor that makes our pursuit different. We seek the Truth. In the stable system where all five elements stabilise in an equilibrium called "quintessence", the alchemist can harness the tectonic energy beneath the earth and bend it to his will._

 _For this state to be achieved, the alchemist needs to understand the truth about their self - their abilities, their power, their ambitions - because these all collate into what we distinguish as perfection. An alchemist needs to understand their own mind, body and soul before they are able to understand the matter in this Universe. It is the alchemist's privilege to connect with the earth using each of their senses. Only when they understand themselves and their place in this world can quintessence be attainable._

Edward had initially been mesmirised by those words, but after he saw the Truth with his own eyes, he realized what a bunch of crap that all was. However, there was one piece in the text that he _looked_ at. He could picture the page, feel its rough texture beneath his palm, hear the swishing of parchment and _look_ at the arrangement of letters on the page. _"Using each of their senses."_

It clicked. The mumbling, the hesitation...

Ed's eyes widened, in denial. It all had to be a lie, a terrible, horrific _bad_ lie.

He called Al's name softly.

"Alphonse."

...

"Al."

...

"Brother."

...

Nothing. Al didn't look up or respond.

The wall that Ed had surrounded around himself, the wall that had made sure he could stop himself from screaming, the barricade that allowed him to control the pain to his will (even if partially) and think rational thoughts melted away like sinking sand.

Seeing his brother so helpless had _broken_ him.

Al was deaf.

A deeply-set growl started rumbling in Ed's throat, and his golden eyes cloaked over with a feral madness like the ushering of a storm. He was going to rip out that bastard's throat and hear him cry out in pain until he screamed no more.

He didn't notice the tears streaming down his face.

* * *

 _Alphonse's head was groggy (when wasn't it these days), but he instantly knew that he was not with his brother. It was like his soul could sense where his brother was like a beacon, radiating a fiery orange light that told Al that everything was going to be alright._

 _How he wanted to speak to his brother, just to tell Ed that he was alright._

 _In truth, maybe he wasn't "alright". He had been starved for the past week because it improved his readings on the machine they plugged him to for an hour every morning and night. He had screamed the first number of times before he had become used to it._

 _However, Brother didn't wake up. He never woke up._

 _He slept and wrestled in his dreams as his body desperately fought the infection at his shoulder port. Whenever Al had tried to edge closer to his brother, they would beat him (and they would beat Al too but he didn't care about that). Al had to watch his brother suffer and he couldn't intervene otherwise he would have caused Ed more suffering._

 _It sickened him down to the soul._

 _His own body was so damn weak - it sent a ripple of anger coursing throughout his mind that he had grown accustomed too. He felt as if he was being force-fed with negative emotions - discourse, fear, rage, frustration - and with each day that passed, his mind was slipping, slipping into a dark and unfathomable place._

 _He glanced around wearily at his surroundings. He had learnt to be as subtle as possible (Al didn't want to let his captors know that he was awake). In the early hours of the morning, or at least when Al and Ed were left alone in their cell, Al had started to break free at the manacles around his leg and arm. Without alchemy and a fully functioning body, his progress was dragging. Finally though, three weeks in (he marked the days clearly in his mind - it offered him little clarity and reassurance) he had managed to break the chain around his foot. And two days later, the distinct_ pop _of the manacle around his hands had broken too. "Arduous" was an understatement - getting free from these chains had taken him nearly a month to complete in his feeble state._

 _When the black-haired man had found out, he had beaten one eye bloody and snapped his wrist. Since then, a weak had passed. Al could barely muster the energy to moan during the procedure._

 _Instead, he had started to recite the Laws of Alchemy - in-between his panting and gasps of pain - to remind him that he was an alchemist and as was his brother. And they still had a world that needed saving. How could he give up when there were people suffering...just like Nina, and just like Ed._

 _That thought alone made him endure the agony of an alchemic current coursing through his veins, one that he was unable to control. He felt like a foreigner in his own body when the procedure occurred, as if even alchemy had abandoned him._

 _"E-Equivalent E-Exchang-ge...fir-rst pri-nciple..." Al would stutter. And every time he was beaten up, two thoughts would come to his mind. The first was the image of his brother living with his decaying flesh wound, and the next was of a glittering pair of eyes in the darkness mouthing the word "bad"._

 _"Bad, bad, bad..." Al was mumbling. He didn't even realize that he had spoken. With his one good eye, he squinted and inspected the dank space-_

 _And suddenly, he recoiled-_

 _Bad bad bad bad-_

 _Those glittering hazel eyes were watching him happily, too happily. Alphonse curled and shrunk back, hoping he could blend into the wall._

Don't let those morons get to you, Al. You're stronger than those bastards. If they ever hurt you, I would beat them to a pulp.

 _Brother?_

 _Brother...he had to be strong for Ed._

 _"N-no...y-you won't t-touch him," Al choked, the words strange amid the blend of screaming he had become so used to hearing by now. The man never interrogated him - he only seemed interested in the power Al could harness._

 _"I won't. You've been a very good boy, Alphonse Elric. Well done." And the man smiled, teeth pointed and jagged like fangs._

 _The lights suddenly flashed on. Al flinched away from the light. He was in a white room...at a dining room table...as if he was about to eat dinner like he did with Brother and Mama. He would be praised and encouraged to protect the world with alchemy. He had been made to believe that he was a hero._

 _Lies._

 _He tried to be brave, but he shuddered as he stared at the one item on the table. A glass vase rested on its surface with white daffodils poking out - freshly-picked, blooming - like an ornate decoration._

 _"I won't touch him...yet."_

 _Bad._

 _Bad._

 _BAD._

* * *

 _Ha first cliffhanger - were any of you expecting that? :)_

 _Three parts up in three days. Nice...And the writing frenzy doesn't want to end there. Chapter 4_ Velocity _will be up for Wednesday._

 _Here are some things to note in case the narration was not clear:_

 _1) The last part with Alphonse was a flashback to a month after their imprisonment. This occurs two weeks before (nearly three weeks) Ed wakes up._

 _2) Where there is a "-" followed by italic writing is a summation of the darker thoughts the characters experience in their sub-consciousness._

 _I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you with the next update. :)_


	4. Velocity

Velocity

Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes was ready to slam his head into the wall with frustration. A certain Colonel had stumbled into his office with a little too much whiskey in his system, and now Maes was reaping from the benefits of a very drunk Roy Mustang -

"And then, Hawkeye t-told me to come and see youuuu, my best friend! Maes, you are my b-best friend, aren't you?" the dark-haired man reached out to give Maes a sloppy hug, which he ducked away from.

"Of course, you dummy. Typical Hawkeye, dumping the babysitting duty on me," he mumbled half to himself, rubbing his exhausted eyes. Damn he should be at home in bed with Gracia after tucking his adorable little Elicia at this moment.

And then he remembered _why_ he was doing this. It was a memory that stumbled to the forefront of his mind, which even blotted out Roy's drunken mumbling -

 _"This quiche tastes so good, Gracia! You were right, Hughes, your wife is the best cook in the whole of Amestris!" Ed had smiled gleefully with his mouth stuffed full of food from across the dining room table._

 _"I'm glad you're enjoying, kiddo," Maes closed his eyes contentedly. He could feel Gracia's warm breath by his side, and hear Elicia have an intense conversation about grapes with Alphonse as well as Ed devouring his food. A lazy purr rose in his throat._

 _Next time, he wanted Roy and Riza to come over. Heck why not invite Kain, Jean and the whole crew around for a barbeque. The weather was getting warmer after all._

 _Maes broached Gracia on the subject that night when the kids had gone to sleep. The boy's muttering and whispers had quietened as they fell captive to the sweet bliss of dreams._

 _He had sat in his chair listening and watching nothing in particular. He stared at the clock, which read past midnight and he yawned. It had been a long day in the office, but the evening had made it worth every second. Gracia sat by his side, her head resting on his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around hers, and he inhaled her sweet musk (of cinnamon and autumn leaves) deeply, feeling as though he had stepped into heaven._

 _"Honey-" he had started, but quickly was interrupted._

 _"Yes, Maes. They may have burnt their home to cinders, but they will always have a home with us." Gracia smiled and although she was weary from the long day, it was something genuine and sincere._

 _"Those children, eh," Maes chuckled lightly under his breath, and let his head fall onto Gracia's._

 _And if in response to his musing, his daughter emerged from her bedroom._

 _Maes watched as Elicia's bedroom door opened, and she glanced from side to side, oblivious of her father staring at her from across the hallway. She tiptoed along the corridor and sneaked into the Elric brother's room. His heart burst with love for his kids._

 _She then stayed with them until morning._

Maes snapped out of his reverie when he heard the persistent drone of "Maesmaesmaesmaes" coming inches from his left ear.

"Alright! I heard you the first time. And why does it have to be me, even if I'm the only one with children around here…" Maes said a little too quickly. He instantly swore under his breath at having said that. He knew he _shouldn't have_ in Roy's current state, but it was too late to take it back.

"T-they're only children, Maes," Roy whimpered, a sound like a lonely dog, and a noise that the spawn-of-the-Devil-Flame-Alchemist should not have been making. It was like a lament, long and bitter and fearful.

"I know, Roy," he attempted to pull his friend closer to him (not that Roy had allowed him much personal space anyway).

Suddenly the man recoiled. "No!"

Dazed and disorientated (it wasn't surprising for 3 in the morning), the Lieutenant Colonel tilted his head to the side, "Roy?"

"No. Please. Just don't. I've got to get back to _work,_ " the last word left the Colonel's system as a moan. He proceeded to lean over towards Maes' bin and empty out his stomach contents. They weren't twenty anymore and couldn't tolerate their alcohol like they used to (but boy after Ishval they had _tried_ ).

"You're working your ass off, Roy. You need a break for the night," _We_ all _need a break for the night,_ Maes silently added.

However, Ed's smiling face stuffed full of quiche rang in his thoughts like a bell. The Fullmetal Alchemist was missing as was his younger brother. But Maes didn't give a shit about what the military thought of them.

They were his kids, and he wasn't about to give up on them.

Gracia would understand if the bed was half-empty for a while longer.

- _Hopefully not too longer.-_

 _We will find them, we're close…_

 _-You have no leads, no information.-_

 _We're close!_

 _-You're afraid of what you will find. You've been witness to many murder and torture scenes, Maes Hughes.-_

 _Piss off, you bastard…_

 _-First you look, and see the decay of the corpse. You see the splinters of broken bone like ash lying on the floor. And then you listen to the sound of your men choking on the smell of burning flesh.-_

 _No…_

 _-You're scared of what you're going to see.-_

"This quiche tastes so good!"

 _-And when you see it, will you be able to overcome the wave of guilt already churning inside of you?-_

 _Fuck_ off…

 _-Just remember, look before you listen. Light comes before sound.-_

"Get your ass out of my bin, Roy Mustang." Hughes barked the order without realizing he had said it. His hands were trembling slightly (quite a lot) and he grabbed Roy's bottle of whiskey. It was empty. He growled and threw its contents across the room.

Damn it took a lot for him to lose his temper and his composure, but once he did-

"H-Hughes?" Roy questioned sleepily, reeling still from his wave of nausea.

"You heard me, _Colonel._ We're going to find the Elric brothers even if we get lost in Wonderland on the way. We're going to get them two boys back home whether we have to go through _fucking_ Hell to get there. And I will not accept no for an answer!

"I like this Hughes better than here's-the-millionth-picture-of-Elicia-Roy-boy Hughes," Roy grinned (drunken fool he was) and buried his head in a folder.

"Well, I don't," sober Hughes snapped back, before he took a file up from his desk and started to scan through its contents.

Maes vowed that he wouldn't lose his velocity. Not yet. He would keep moving forward faster and faster in one direction until those boys were safe and sound where they belonged.

 _Home._

* * *

The Fullmetal Alchemist had been a lot of things. He had been called a heathen for trespassing into the realm of God, and he had been a brother for nearly all of his life. He had been a Major, a brat, a shrimp, a pathetic boy who couldn't save one little girl. He had been a _hero._

But he had never been speechless like this.

It was as if language was an alien conception to him. His mind swam in a vortex of pain and disgust (as if this wasn't new) and he wanted the bastard to die and be in pain and fucking _die._

- _Do it.-_

 _-End his miserable life and then end your own.-_

 _-Living is such a chore.-_

Ed was salivating as if he was infected with madness. The bleeding had stopped, although a numb throbbing still pulsed in his brain. Bad, dangerous man, stay _away._

"It's time for your medication, I believe, dear Ed," NoName murmured fondly and pulled a needle from his back pocket like it was an item people regularly carried with them. It was already full with a misty-coloured liquid, like the grey light at dawn.

Pain. Needle. Sharp. _Bad._

He growled in a low tone that reverberated from his chest up his throat and out through his bared lips.

NoName approached indifferently. Ed's head swayed as his head was slammed into the back of the wall, the needle slipped into his wrist, pulled the restraints free and their captor left without saying another word.

Already rational thoughts were beginning to accumulate in his mind. The feral, untamed monster lurking in his brain was retreating to the shadows, leaving Ed in the prison where this had all started. Where all of that pain-

 _I did not think those things. I did NOT think those things. I did NOT mean them._

 _-So you say. Well, haven't you got a brother to see to?-_

 _Al…_

"Alphonse!" Al couldn't hear him. Al couldn't bloody hear him.

Edward stared at his brother, cowering and completely defeated, trembling like a leaf in autumn. It was summer in the world they had left behind and despite the passage of time; there was still several weeks of the hot weather to enjoy. Al should be eating ice cream and quiche and regain the childhood that he had lost.

His whole body was broken but Ed didn't give a shit about himself. He limply fell out of the chair he was in and when he crashed into the floor (he remembered having his head smashed into a wall and the insurmountable pain that accompanied it). There was no hope in him running. Or walking.

So he crawled.

This was the world that they were living in. The Elric brothers had entered a world of paralyzing fear and gloom. Hope was but a dim and fleeting thought.

But there it was, huddled in front of him.

His brother.

 _My brother. I love you so much._

 _-You wanted to leave him and die.-_

 _…_

 _-How can you love somebody in the state_ you're _in?-_

 _Because I'm human, you bastard!_

 _-No. You're a monster.-_

Al must have seen the flickering of a shadow because he raised his head. Gentle golden eyes stared back at him (one was sealed shut) and Ed cursed himself for ever _considering_ surrendering to the pain. He meant everything he said. He loved his brother and would hold his soul close to his heart.

The tears resumed in sliding down his face.

"B-brother, are y-you crying? P-please d-don't cry. D-don't like to s-see y-you upset," Al smiled wanly and reached forward to wipe the tears from Ed's eyes. Ed however recoiled – this wasn't something Al was supposed to do. Ed was the older brother.

"No, Al. I'm sorry," Ed tried to keep his language short. Al's eyes watched his moving lips, watching the familiar move of his mouth that formed into words that he couldn't ever (would he ever hear again?).

"A-are they gone?" Al stuttered, his luminous eyes wide with panic turning his sore head from side to side, his back pressing against the wall in his fleeting panic. He winced as pain shot down his spine. Ed lowered his head for a moment. He understood. The pain lingered like a shadow - it was ever present, always _there -_ and he felt like his head was being cleaved in two with an axe.

Every second that passed choked down his appetite further. He was sick to the stomach of the pain, inside and out. He inhaled deeply and tried to force back the salty tears. Ed couldn't risk losing his precious moisture.

- _So why did you go and become incontinent, you golden fool?-_

 _That was not my_ choice.

 _-It was you choice to give up. You could have fought harder.-_

Breathe. Focus.

"Yeah," Ed mouthed, raising his head so Al could see his face clearly, carefully enunciating his words.

"I-I won't let them t-touch you…" Al brought his good hand closer to Ed. Ed curled his shredded fingers around Al's clammy palm and held it close to his heart.

"They won't. Thank you, Brother." Ed spoke and for the first time in six weeks, he _held_ his brother. He had been craving that touch, the warmth of Al. It reminded him that they had succeeded on their mission. He had restored Al for normal and this life wasn't a waste. Each second had been worth it.

There could be hope in this reality.

 _-If you ever make it out of this place again.-_

 _Shut it, brain or whatever the Hell you are. Leave me be._

A silence transcended between the two Elrics. Ed stroked Al's hair fondly as he had when he was a three-year-old mussing with Al's hair when he had been asleep by his side. The pain and throbbing in his arm never left, and he could feel his fever spreading. It would stretch and stretch over his body like an elastic band until it reached its limit.

And then-

 _Snap._

Ed had come close to that breaking point. But not quite. Al was there for him. Al would be here to stay.

"I-I'm sorry," Al started to mutter. Before Ed could interrupt, he continued, "T-they had to c-change you. And g-give you drugs to stop the pain. T-they said you were in pain."

"Al..."

"A-and then I w-was taken away." Al's voice then broke and shards of crystalline tears trickled down his cheeks.

 _-Such lonely tears.-_

 _…_

 _-Where were you?-_

"Shhh, Al. I'm here," Ed crooned, even though he knew the action was pathetic. He tried to cradle his brother's malnourished form when Al-

"T-they were BAD! R-really BAD! T-they came b-back and t-touched y-you I made them s-stop but they b-beat me up and t-took me a-away from you. I f-failed you and th-they _did_ things. BadbadbadbadBAD!" Al screamed, his fists flailing to the sides (the pain in his broken wrist seemed to be forgotten).

"I-I fell asleep. I-I couldn't h-hear them. The t-things they d-did, B-brother and I was w-weak. U-useless. I d-didn't wake up w-when you n-needed me." Al choked and sobbed before he curled his broken fist and smashed it into the wall.

"AL!" Ed cried and moved forward to restrain his brother. As if shifted his weight forward, he stretched the right side of his torso-

And the ground came rushing up to meet him once again.

The pain rippled through his body like a rush of lightning. The world was revolving around him, as if all gravity had melted away as the centre of Ed's universe became agony, pain, agony. He felt like he was being flagellated to death and his skin was being ripped apart. It made his body convulse as it tried to shake off the pain like a nightmare. He couldn't stop it. His body kept writhing and _stab stab stab_ as his muscles screamed in protest.

"BAD!" Al's voice ricocheted off the walls of their prison.

Suddenly, the world was shrinking and constricting like an elastic band stretching and recoiling. His world was shrivelling up before him like a crumpled piece of paper. His mind was swimming, and he was falling from a great height. The reeling sense of vertigo caused the nausea to return full-force. Ed was barely able to turn over to his side to cough the bile up.

"B-brother?" Al questioned as Ed heaved. He wasn't even vomiting any more. He was hyperventilating and curled up on the floor, waiting for the waves of agony to pass. The older Elric had pursued his slips and clamped his eyes firmly shut but it didn't disguise the horrendous pain that had immobilised him. Ed didn't even have the strength to grunt in response or open his eyes or wave a tired hand in the air to let Al know he was alright.

That would have been the case several months ago, a time when everything had been alright...

But now, was it alright?

Edward lay trembling on the floor, his heart racing and he waited for the pain to pass. He abated the sickening, suicidal thoughts that threatened to engulf him. At the moment, he welcomed the pain and hearing his brother's wretched voice. It kept him on the brink of sanity. If he had been on his own - oh _God_ \- he would have probably slipped by now.

One thought rang in his brain: _They used me._

 _They used me like dirt._

 _I am dirt._

 _They touched me and used me and my brother was left crying on my behalf while I was fucking unconscious!_

Ed didn't want to sleep. He never wanted to close his eyes and doze again, despite how wonderful that certain prospect sounded. He fought off the urge to sleep and vomit some more.

Breathe. Focus.

He could feel his heart rate slow a little (it was still pounding at the speed of light but it was an improvement) as the initial surge of anxiety and fear and pain melted away back to the infection site. However, his mind was riddled with fever. He was delirious and crying had made him even more damn hydrated. The room was spinning around him. He gritted his teeth and stared at Al, his sobbing brother, who had once been the anchor of sanity that he had needed, _cherished_ in this crazy world.

Now he couldn't hold on to Al.

He didn't have a right.

Sickened and twisted at the thought, he forced himself to step over and through his own blood, vomit, pus, bile, sweat and piss (which his once beautiful golden hair was now soaked in) to reach his brother. He was worse than an animal. He was _dirt._ He was a foul and despicable human being.

He had abandoned his brother. Damn he had lost his right to be called a human being after that.

 _I can't take much more of this Hell. Goddammit..._

 _-That's the whole point of Hell. It's an eternal nightmare.-_

"You did nothing wrong, Al." Ed mouthed as he slumped his exhausted body (ignoring the _pang pang pang_ of his broken ribs rubbing sorely as he breathed). "Good."

"G-good?" Al had stopped screaming, and nestled against his brother's shoulder, falling into a troubled and uneasy sleep.

Edward refused to sleep. He shuffled to his side, facing the door and the machine, his eyes scanning through the darkness like a hawk. He would never let his brother be _mutilated_ in the way that he had. More words danced on his tongue, but he didn't have the courage to say them.

 _Mutilated. Tortured. Abused...Raped._

The last one rang in his brain in a continuous circle like the Ouroboros, travelling round and round in one direction, becoming faster and faster. It gained more and more velocity, as the thread of sanity in his mind strained, waiting for its opportunity to _snap._

* * *

6am in the morning. The dawn light was filtering in through the Investigations' office window. While the light shined through the window, lighting Maes' ruffled hair like a halo, his exhausted sack of bones of a body jumped in hysteric joy as he leaped to his glasses were askew across his face. Many cups of caffeine lay littered around the office. Something had been knocked over about an hour ago. However, Maes was hot on his trail. And as soon as his detective-wannabe side of his brain was activated, there was nothing in his path that could have quelled his fever.

He had found a lead - an actual lead! It was a blue folder with nothing particularly fancy about it, but for the Lieutenant Colonel it was like he had struck gold. And now he was mining and chipping away at the lead, scanning its contents just to be sure he wasn't on to a false trail.

Maes nodded his head in feverish excitement. He was sure this wasn't. The details (locations, timings, alliances) it all _fit_ and made sense.

It had taken him damn long enough to find data to work with, but now that he had-

He could barely contain his excitement any more than Elicia when her Daddy returned home from a busy day at work. Hell, as soon as Maes had conducted this investigation and brought his boys back, he would take his daughter in one arm and his wife in the other. They would have that bloody BBQ even in the rain. Roy wouldn't be too pleased about that idea, but for Maes Hughes it was like his world of monochrome grey had had a splash of colour painted onto its canvas.

He didn't need a mirror to know that he was grinning like an idiot. Good. This place needed a breath of fresh air after these tormenting six weeks.

What was he doing?

He had to tell the Colonel about the revelation; Maes had been too caught up in his swirling thoughts to cast a glance at his superior officer, which he did at that moment.

A wave of familiar protection coursed through his body as the mighty Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang, was peacefully asleep on top of a folder, his mouth agape and the sound of snoring drifted gently across the office. Without thinking, Maes had shrugged off his military jacket and draped it over his best friend's shoulders. The black-haired man didn't make a sound and he didn't stir. His hands moved in a hazy blink of lucid dreaming to move his makeshift blanket closer around his delicate frame and finally earn some of the well-deserved rest that he had earned.

Maes had had the afternoon off yesterday (while Roy had been ploughing through work in the office, his pen as vicious as a blade at signing the mandatory paperwork before he could return to the Fullmetal Incident). He had walked through the front door, mumbled "I love you" to his family before he had fell asleep on the sofa. He had awoken refreshed (despite the obvious lack of sleep) to return for the night shift.

It had been worth it. That son-of-a-bitch called _hopelessness_ could piss off.

The sunrise was making him too positive for his own good. He even had the desire to show the Central City HQ the latest pictures of Elicia running a mock fashion show with her teddy bears! It was absolutely adorable!

Maes smiled genuinely and his felt light and _freer_ than he had been in a long while.

Just for the sake of being able to do so, he jumped into the air again and let loose a little squeal. Okay, this was going a little too far.

Had he drunk whiskey last night? He giggled. Maybe a little in his coffee! It didn't matter now though - they had done it!

"Damn it brain," the voice of Roy waking up rang through Maes' ears. Mustang's speech was slurred as he attempted to mask the discomfort his throbbing head must have been in.

 _The joys of having a hangover,_ Maes mused happily. However the thought of his friend having a hangover at work was alarming. The Colonel took his duty and line of work seriously, and even after Ishval, he had not brought his personal life into his office. Roy and Colonel Mustang lived very separate lifestyles. One was a worrying fool who cared too much about the people he loved and the other was a cool, level-headed leader who would ensure victory and success for his people. Both were snide and cocky bastards however.

And both cared too much about a certain punk hot-headed alchemist.

At that moment, a darker pair of eyes met his own green. The air crackled for a moment with tension, as if the two friends were standing on a precipice of dreams. Both shared a common goal - to have the Elric boys brought back to them. They had worked tirelessly for this one mission. And Maes' was only glad he wasn't about to provide the Colonel with "bad news".

Facing the Flame's wrath was one thing. But trying to reach an agreement with a very drunken, weary Roy Mustang was another matter entirely.

"Report to me, Lieutenant Colonel." Roy rasped as he gulped down consecutive glasses of water to clear away the fogginess of a hangover.

"Yes, Sir," Maes complied. "There is an eyewitness report of two young boys leaving an ice cream parlour at approximately 14:00 hours. It is suspected from their colourings and clothing that they were the Fullmetal Alchemist and his brother, Sir!"

Roy's eyes flashed - it was a fleeting look, but it screamed relief.

Maes continued: "They then proceeded to Turinene's train station and left after 19:00 hours. They were last seen in a market square, Sir."

The information they had obtained, for any other investigation, would have been described as "pitiful". However, after scrapping through the whole of the military's records, this information was like a breakthrough for the Lieutenant Colonel. From the way that Roy sighed and stretched out of his chair told Maes that his best friend thought exactly the same thing: Finally, a place to begin.

"Turinene, hmm, Hughes," Roy picked up his littered coffee mugs.

Turinene was a small country town out in the East Area. It was midway between Youswell, the mining town and East City. The name didn't sound strange to Maes either; he had sworn he had heard the name of the place before, but the reason why slipped his mind.

"Thank goodness," breathed Maes.

"I know," those were all the words that needed to be spoken. The strain in their voices was still present, but the edge had been taken off of it in both of their tones.

"Where did you find this folder, Hughes?" Roy had reached the office door and turned back while opening the door on its hinges. The morning light sent dust particles dancing around Roy Mustang's face like fireflies and he batted them away with a grunt of annoyance. The Colonel was already carrying himself better with a presence that spoke of a _leader_ and not a shadow, a haunted figure of the man he once was.

Edward Elric was a bugbear on them all.

However, as Roy was about to step outside of the office, he was abruptly stopped by Havoc and Breda. Both of the men looked refreshed after a long night's rest (a long night was five hours for Roy's team now) and even though their work hours were not due to start for another couple of hours, they had still arrived early. Even if Mustang wanted to be a jackass at times, he was brilliantly admired by his men (and _women_ ) for his dedication to them beyond their military alliances. It was a bond reserved for a few, but one that burned brighter than a bonfire.

Havoc's ever-present cigarette was missing. Breda wasn't snacking on food from the canteen either. Both men carried a heavy box between them, and the weight that their shoulders resonated deeply within Maes.

Something was wrong.

"Lieutenants - what is this?" Roy snapped, causing his men to blink in surprise.

"It is a package we found outside by the main gates, Sir," Havoc ushered his way into the office past his CO and after shuffling a few folders to the side, rested the box on the table with a _thud._ "And it is addressed especially for you, Sir."

"Very good. Let Hawkeye know I'll be back as soon as I can, and try to convince her not to shoot me," the Colonel's tone was flat despite the amusement he had tried to concoct with his words.

Breda let out a loose chuckle and lifted his shoulders flippantly, "We'll try, Sir."

"Thank you. Dismissed," and as Maes started to slink out of the office to follow Havoc and Breda, he was abruptly stopped. "Not you, Hughes, I need you to stay."

"Alright then," Maes said quietly and went to stand by Roy's right-hand side. The two men stood there, long shadows being cast by the waxy dawn light. They lengthened and contorted and merged against the wall. Two idiots fighting against the fate of the world.

Millennia seemed to pass as Roy opened the wooden crate of a box agonisingly slowly. One side of the crate fell open, and then another. Roy then peeled the lid off.

Inside was a smashed glass vase with waxy white daffodils resting within. They looked like they had been freshly picked too. And by its side was a waterproof bag. It was large and Roy lifted it with a shudder. Maes rushed over to help him.

Damn it was heavy.

They turned it upside down and _clank!_ A journal fell onto the table. But the journal was quickly forgotten when the heavier item landed next to it.

Automail. A right arm.

Maes gasped and clung rigidly to the table as the world began to crumble and fall apart around him.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading! These quick updates are for you. So keep enjoying, and I'll keep updating. I love it when Equivalent Exchange can apply to reality._

 _The next chapter_ Caffeine-Depraved _should be up soon. I'll see you then._

 _Edit: A few errors I just wanted to change before the next chapter goes up. If all goes well, that should hopefully be tonight (Saturday)._


	5. Caffeine-Deprived

Caffeine-Deprived

Riza Hawkeye didn't remember falling asleep in the shower. Even when she had been driven to exhaustion by a stream of working throughout the night, she had always been able to shake off the fatigue.

There had always been _something_ to strive for. Even when she had been branded with the knowledge of Flame Alchemy on her back by her father and the thoughts of suicide had been her constant companions, she had never been dragged down by this…

This _hopelessness._ It was as if her world had become a blur of reading and sipping coffee and threatening to fire rounds at her subordinates. Her fingers traced over the scars left on her back and rose to her feet.

Turning the knobs to slow the jets of spray spitting from the shower head, Riza bowed her head, allowing herself a second to collect her thoughts. Her mind was a blur, an empty canvas waiting to be painted on. The only coherent thought her brain could muster was: _sleep. Please._

Almost regrettably, Riza pushed the thought to the back of her mind, where it nevertheless lingered. It soon manifested into a dull tension headache (which she had grown accustomed to), a side effect of fatigue.

Rubbing the exhaustion from her eyelids but only succeeding in making herself feel more fatigued, she sighed and grabbed a loose towel before drawing it closely over her shoulder.

She hoped that while she had slept – barely more than an hour as she collected her uniform and stared at her watch– Mustang's team had found a miracle. But the disquiet and tension (the persistent buzzing and droning sensation at the back of her mind) told her otherwise. And she was one to trust her instincts.

The situation remained the same.

The Lieutenant stared at her morphed frame in the mirror for a long moment. Her jawline was hard and set, strands of her longer hair falling free from the clip that had managed to stay in through her showering interlude, and her shoulders sagged with a weight of a burden.

Riza had been working ceaselessly for the month. The whole month.

She needed a break.

And she _hated herself_ for thinking about any of that. She wasn't one for self-pity; she had never possessed an inflated ego like a certain Colonel did. She was steadfast and sure and strong.

It was her duty and _pride_ to keep the team focused and certain under pressure (although the latter never fell through). While the Colonel was the chain that knitted the diversity together (Mustang's office was its entirely own ecosystem), she was the fuel and engine that worked tirelessly behind the scenes.

But even engines run out of fuel after some time. When it got to the point that she was falling asleep in the shower, she knew she had reached that _point,_ the precipice of disaster. If she worked herself any harder without resting, she was going to fall.

She pummelled the towel through her hair and a rain of droplets dripped onto the already-soaked tiles below. The water drained unhappily away into the sink, mingled with dirt and blood and oil.

Riza remembered now, what she had been doing before her untimely passing out.

She had become so frustrated that she had stormed out into the HQ's shooting grounds, loaded her rifle, and shot at the target an innumerable number of times before it had collapsed against the pressure. And she had only moved onto the next target. Throughout the entire ordeal, she hadn't said a word.

One rang dimly in her mind now, although she didn't know if she spoke it or not.

 _Shit."_

She must have retreated to the showers to catch her breath. It was the likely place she would have chosen. The canteen would have been a ruckus; the dorms too far away and the office a sinking pit for despair and _hopelessness._

So she had opted for the shower block. Nobody could follow her into the bathroom. That was one of the benefits about being the only woman on the team.

Riza struggled to remember when she had lost her temper before…and she realized that that occurrence had been…never. Not even the deserts of Ishval had caused her to flee from a situation (even if she had cried herself to sleep many, many times after when she knew she didn't have the right to be called a "human" anymore).

But even humans, even engines, killing machines like she needed a break once in a while, apparently.

Sitting crying and frustrated and unbearably hollow inside beneath the shower before her body had collapsed and she had slipped into unconsciousness classified as a "break" to Riza Hawkeye.

By this point she had crawled back into her uniform, which was sticky and damp against her skin. She readjusted her bun as she left through the swinging doors, hearing them squeak in protest without looking back. Move forward, ever forward. There wasn't time to look back.

As she approached the office, the click of her boots light against the carpet below, dread radiated from her heart, as dark as the aura that appeared to mass in front of her. She stopped, her breath suddenly erratic; she was about to walk from the safe zone into a hurricane.

Behind those doors had what made Riza Hawkeye flee (coward, coward, coward), the sturdy, immovable wall, the heartless scum-Devil-murderer-child-slaughterer-menace-

She slapped herself across the face, forcing her pulse to slow. (Thud, thud, thud). She hoped a purple, blotchy bruise would form. She would sacrifice any amount of pain to stop-

Stop _that._

Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes and Colonel Roy Mustang had been working (and drinking) in the Investigations office all night. They had received a...delivery that morning and had shared it with the team.

She, Mustang, Hughes, Fuery, Breda, Falman, Havoc and Armstrong had cowered around the item of interest...

One shining black folder sat on their desk. It wasn't so much of a folder as it was a…journal or a sketchbook. Inside were complicated and mostly illegible incomplete alchemic arrays and methods of torture eloquently written down in detail. The only way to describe the journal was as intricate. It went on and on, for many pages that could have been published as a fully-fledged novel. The writing, the arrays had all been written in blood. The last page possessed Edward's mock signature.

That was when it _clicked._ It was the morbid epiphany that everyone in the room had had at the same time like a fucking shared psychic vision. There had been shudders and gasps. Riza had stared in horror at the page, her mind reeling.

The entire journal had been written in Edward's blood.

At that moment, she had pulled hardly at her right shoulder, willing and happy give her right arm and left leg (rip them and hand them bloody) to Edward to alleviate an inch of his suffering.

She had seen the automail moments later. It had been hacked off, as if by a butcher. Mangled wires and flesh knitted together at the base of the mechanism, and lumps of the port had been sheared with it too. There were even strands of golden hair trapped in the gears. It belonged to the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric and his automail kept him from being a cripple, an invalid. It helped to keep him strong. It set as a reminder to _focus_ and move forward.

 _-Can you ever move on from Ishval though, you stupid little girl?-_

 _-You swore on that day you shot a child in the face that you would do what was best for this country.-_

 _-And now when your subordinate (flimsy boy) is captured, you read_ diaries?

 _...Ah..._

 _-Hmm, some vows you swore.-_

 _Ahhhh!_

 _..._

 _..._

 _-Bang.-_

The tears had fallen down her face. She didn't dare speak a word. What right did she have?

She was a killing machine.

Hell, she had talked to prisoners of war (and she had been a prisoner locked in her own body after Ishval).

But they had been treated like humans – with respect and dignity.

Even scientists treated their experiments with care. But Edward and Alphonse Elric had been abused so horrifically she had had to leave the room. Riza had stormed to the firing squad, choking back the vomit lodged in her throat like a dry bullet.

Those boys had been scraped upon like dirt.

"Hawkeye!" The Colonel had called after her.

 _Go away go away go away!_

"Leave her, Sir," Hughes.

 _Stay out of it stay out of it!_

"I can't...nobody else..."

"We're all hurting, Roy."

 _We're all hurting. We're all hurting so, so much._

* * *

Three days had passed. Three days of having to endure more pain an a year's worth of automail surgery.

His body wasn't in agony anymore; it was numb and cold and lifeless like a hollow suit of armour. He was a puppet to be used as his master wanted. That was his worth in this world of shadow and gloom.

In the dim light, a wan smile lit over his lips. This boy was a shadow of the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric. His candle of hope was flickering more dimly with each second that passed. His head was bowed, slick with sweat. He didn't have the energy to cry, let alone smile. Not since _they_ had come last night -

 _A shuffle. A crack of light. It was late. Al was sleeping. Ed was guarding, awake. Ever since he had popped his leg back into place, the joint had been throbbing. Good. It would help to keep him focused. He had not slept in a long time. His body was beginning to slip, but his mind would keep fighting for as long as possible._

 _"Look who we have here!" the voices whispered intently, giggling and grunting to themselves like a pack of hyenas. Their figures blended into menacing shadows against the darkness. Ed straightened his back up as much as possible (hurt HURT), holding onto the last strands of his dignity. He would not be afraid._

 _Ed remained silent, eyeing his targets warily, covering his body sub-consciously to protect Al as much as possible. He raised his broken and twisted arm to form a barrier between the strangers and the sleeping Alphonse. Because that was what they were. Strangers. Bad._

 _When they received no reply, a burly figure stepped forwards, his breath reeking of liquor, "It's only the blonde wenches usually who've got enough meat to cleave through. But look at you, sunshine!" The man proceeded to make a wolf whistle._

 _Ed proceeded to spit in his face. "Fuck you."_

 _"Oh oh oh! A bit of_ spice! _I like it, boys!" The three others behind him started stamping their feet lightly against the ground. Their leader placed his arms on his hips and shook his head, "Ol' Kimbers has given us an hour. Let's get this show on the road."_

 _"Don't you dare touch my brother," Edward hissed. His head was giddy as though he was experiencing a permanent hangover. However, he had never been one for alcohol (especially after witnessing these men) and related his feeling of vertigo to being extremely caffeine-deprived. His world had harrowed down around Ed. It was him and these men and Al. Goddamn he knew what was about to happen and he was afraid, horrifically afraid, but he held his head up high, golden eyes glowing. He would protect Al._

 _"It's okay, lil' fella. I said that_ you _were the sunshine," the man sniffed in Al's direction distastefully as if he was a rotting corpse. "That scrawny lump of skin 'n' bones don't compare."_

 _"Promise me, you won't hurt him," Ed resigned when he received a nod in response. He didn't relax, but he let the numbness wash over his soul as the man with the tawny hair and black eyes began to approach him like a predator._

 _When the man was in range, Ed's right leg shot upwards and landed at its target. The figures, who had once been laughing, quickly saw their escape route. They were probably going to be fetching reinforcements._

 _However the only thought for Ed, no longer chained, was to move. He darted out of the way crawling on his pathetic stump of a leg. Five seconds later and someone was_ yanking _at his hair. It hurt - his skull was going to disconnect from the rest of his body. Every strand of his beautiful golden hair was being pulled from his head._

 _The greasy man's fist disconnected with a lumpful of Ed's hair. "Stinks of piss."_

 _Suddenly the man dropped to the floor. Alphonse was huffing, looking down at his bloodied fist, looming over the unconscious form of the man he had concussed._

 _The clamour had awoken Al. But at least...those men hadn't hurt him. If Ed could ever be offered reassurance, that would be it. However, his mind began to process all that had happened. He would have been_ touched _by those men again (he shuddered when he realized that this had been a multiple occurrence)...he had been...he..._

 _Bad._

 _BAD..._

 _His hand reached up to the bald patch on his head and cradled his scalp, mourning all that he had lost - his dignity, his pride, his hair, his limbs, his sanity..._

 _But he had his baby brother._

 _They had to get out of here..._

 _They could get out of here!_

 _Without waiting to gesture to Al, Ed grabbed Al's hand, hopping on his one leg. There was the door and light! -_

 _Sizzle. And...pop._

 _Edward could hear the popping sound as his skin peeled apart to having a burning rod pushed directly into his infection site. It was like claws raking down his spine, like each of his bones were being crushed in scrutinising agony (even though they were). He could feel his muscles tearing, splitting apart like a chasm._

 _He was falling down...falling..._

 _"AHHHHH" the screams resonated about the prison._

 _NoName stood at the doorway, a cherry hot poker held calmly in his palms. "Bad..." he had whispered, and Ed's world had gone black..._

Edward didn't give a shit. He now had days, a week at most before the infection would cause his body to collapse (possibly permanently). But that greasy, liquor-fuelled man had kept his promise. Al was unharmed.

 _-You have the dignity to call him unharmed.-_

 _-Why do you bother?-_

 _-Let it take you.-_

 _-Madness is a wonderful thing.-_

 _..._

 _"Ol' Kimbers"._

But Ed was grinning a Cheshire smile in the fading light, ignoring the pedantic voices in his head for once. He didn't give a shit!

He wasn't called a prodigy and named the youngest State Alchemist in Amestris for no reason. A name danced off his lips, and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

 _"Kimblee."_

* * *

Three days had passed. The paperwork piled on his desk, although those were the least of his concerns right now. There was one slick grey file waiting to be read, commanding his full attention. _This_ is where it became interesting.

Roy Mustang was caffeine-deprived and had pulled too many late nights that he wanted to forget about. The sheer weight of hopelessness had threatened to drag him down (even the sturdy Hawkeye had buckled upon seeing the journal); he had wanted nothing more than to curl up on his paperwork and hope this case had been a bad dream. He was only glad he had Hawkeye to threaten him at gunpoint to keep him focused.

That was it. All that he had to do was look at the file and the words and _focus._ His genius alchemist's mind would get to work and he would become lost in a world of riddles, cracking this damn conundrum like it was a crossword.

Except things rarely planned out that way in this shithole called "reality". And the situation was made exponentially worse by there being no goddamn caffeine around.

"Someone fetch me a shot," Roy grumbled under his breath, rubbing his aching hands across his scalp, massaging his temples (as if that would help him gather an answer) and letting his hands drop loosely past his sweaty forehead. Of course his team knew what he meant by a "shot" too. Roy would have savoured the burning sweetness of scotch to soothe his pounding head – but he couldn't become lost in bliss right now. He needed a _caffeine_ shot. And a large one at that.

When nobody replied to his command, he barked in a louder tone. Roy finally looked up – his neck popping – and the melancholy that was swimming in his office hit him at full force. Nobody was slacking or making weak jibes. Hell, Havoc wasn't even smoking; his ash tray was sitting neglected by his side (smoking wasn't legal in HQ but Havoc had found a way to twist the rules when Roy had been very, very hungover). It made Roy feel even more damn depressed.

"That was an order!" Roy hissed, his hands shaking weakly and laughing under his breath. Insubordinate subordinates.

"Sir, you know the coffee machine is broken…" Fuery began nervously, raising his head slightly from his own stack of paperwork. His glasses slipped sadly down his face when he said that.

"You're a technician though, Private, you should be able to fix it," the Colonel interjected unhappily, not liking where this conversation was going.

"And Sir, coffee isn't going to help you now, if you mind me saying…"

\- _No, I DO fucking mind-_

 _Stop it goddamn you, brain._

"You need to take a break, Colonel. Coffee isn't going to help the situation now-" Fuery lifted a hand to indicate the scattered espresso cups littered around Roy's desk.

- _There's not time for me to rest how the fuck am I meant to rest when-_

 _This isn't helping. Just stop. Focusfocusfocus._

"How can I-"

"You're working your ass off, Sir. Nobody could ask for anymore," that was Breda. Jolly, snide Breda who always stole the last slice of pizza…

- _They're just trying to slow you down.-_

 _Shutupshutupshutup-_

"Shut up! If you've got nothing to ask, don't say anything at all!" Roy's stomach lurched as he said the spiteful words. He didn't mean them.

Oh yes he did.

He _didn't._

Goddamn why couldn't he get some caffeine. Sweet, sweet caffeine…

The office turned back into taciturn silence. The curtains were draped closed and dust particles were dancing on the air. Someone sneezed. Someone shuffled on their feet. Someone pounded their pen against the surface of the table.

Roy ignored them all. His entire body and mind and _being_ was focused on the document still resting unclosed in his hands, furiously shaking hands. All he had to do was goddamn open the folder and forage through its contents for the key information. Location. Dates. Names.

He had done it so many times.

He had looked through these records so many times.

This time shouldn't be any _different._

Pen pounded. Feet shuffled. Sneezing. Location. Dates. Names.

His mind was a whirling fury of bloody images of mutilated limbs and a living man screaming as his intestines were knotted and ripped in half in front of his eyes. There were pictures…senselessly morbid pictures….in the files that Roy had had to delve in before. He had averted his gaze and reminded himself that this was evidence and hidden behind Colonel Mustang's cold demeanour.

He should be able to look through it again…

Except…he couldn't.

The file dropped back onto his desk with an audible _smack._ In his frustration, Roy had hurled it onto the wooden surface, hoping its contents could disintegrate and burn. They didn't deserve to exist.

He pushed himself out of his chair and stormed out of the office, stomping along the corridor, not entirely sure where his legs were leading him.

But the sinking pit of his soul couldn't forget – no matter how hard he distracted himself –

 _-You have no right to distract yourself-_

\- The words etched onto the front of the file:

 _Missing Incidents Report_

 _Edward Elric – Fullmetal Alchemist_

 _M.I.A_

* * *

Maes Hughes had been waiting for the call on his Investigations unit all morning. He was alone in his office, working overtime at this ridiculous early hour. And he had sacrificed Gracia's wonderful poached eggs to come here to give his subordinates a well-deserved break on this Sunday.

Except he hadn't been expecting a call from a certain person who barged into his work space, flopped into _his_ chair as if it was his throne.

Roy was a bastard and there was no way around that.

Maes rubbed his glasses with a slide of his hand, not bothering to look at the Colonel. "Couldn't this have waited, Roy…you know we've had a shit ton on here recently…"

As the man trailed off tiredly (he hadn't slept properly in over a month and his self-control was like an uncontrollable itch, and irritation was leaking out of his usual optimistic exterior), he saw Roy shudder through the corner of his eyes. He instantly regretted saying what he had.

"It came."

It didn't require explanation. Ishval and one too many drinking nights had granted Maes the uncanny ability to read Roy Mustang like a book. He knew what his best friend was referring to.

"Oh. Took the bastards long enough."

"Yeah. It shouldn't be too long now…" Roy trailed off, and he picked up a file aimlessly off a counter and started to flick through the pages, obviously not reading any of the words. Maes stopped what he was doing, and properly looked at the dark-haired man caffeine-deprived (much like he was).

Roy was hollow. His body sagged, his movements lagging as it took his limbs twice the time to follow his brain's commandments through. That was the exhaustion side. Maes had seen Roy like this before when he had pulled one too many late nights to solve a puzzle (or aid Maes in some murder-mystery case, one that was of particular interest). He wasn't concerned about that.

It was the aura of hopelessness that wavered from the man. He didn't look fearless and wasn't goddamn smirking or making a wry comment about the place. He was just staring blankly, his eyes unseeing through the sheets of paper, as if a fiery piece of Roy Mustang's soul had suddenly been snuffed.

The sight was disturbing.

And Maes couldn't just banish the thought like it was a bad dream. Here was Roy Mustang, the corporeal form of a nightmare. This was a Roy Mustang devoid of hope and purpose. This was the Roy Mustang barely surviving after they had scraped through Ishval.

Maes shuddered involuntarily, the sheer weight of the situation dropping onto his shoulders all at once.

"Roy…" Maes removed his glasses, losing them somewhere in the colossal stack of paper of the investigation he had just abandoned paying any attention to and started to edge closer to the man.

"Please. Just don't, Hughes." Roy was backing away like a feral animal. He placed down the file and was quickly rising to his feet.

"You know this wasn't your fault. You shouldn't be shouldering this burden by yourself," Maes soothed softly, as if he was speaking to Elicia. His paternal instincts were kicking in fully.

"I need," Roy gasped for a second before collecting his breath, "your professional opinion on how to proceed."

"You don't need to do this, Roy…" Maes had moved to be within several feet of the man. Roy was cornered on the opposite of where the door was. He couldn't escape and run off that easily. This was something they had to open up about.

But Roy Mustang wouldn't open his shell up for anyone, even if it was snapping and fraying at the edges, soon to burst.

"If you'll not listen to me as a friend, then you shall listen to me as an order, Hughes," Roy snapped, his head darting from side to side as if he was still planning a mad dash. He flinched as he hit the back wall.

"I cannot do that, Sir."

"You will obey your superior officer, Lieutenant Colonel!" Roy raised his voice, his eyes suddenly glistening with emotion working on overdrive – fear, pain, anger, frustration – and Maes' heart wrenched. He felt every single one of those emotions too.

"Fucking stop this Roy Mustang right now!" Maes raised his fist, but then growled under his breath and dropped it to his side. Roy was trembling. Gently, Maes held the Colonel by his elbow and guided him back to the chair. Roy sank into it and stared blankly at the wall.

"I don't know what to do, Hughes," Roy whispered, his voice cracking. "General Hakuro refused to let us send a team to Turinene. They fucking refused! They said it was too much of the military's expense. What freak show are these monsters running? They're boys, Hughes. Dammit, what do I _do_? I don't know!"

"Me neither, buddy," Maes slumped on the floor beside Roy, staring at a very dull portrait of some very dull Amestrian general.

"What would _he_ think seeing me like a-a m-mess!" Roy buckled again. "I've killed people and n-now I'm helpless. I can't-"

"But you aren't, Roy. You bloody aren't, you bastard."

"W-why? W-why couldn't I be _there_ for him? I c-couldn't even open the goddamn folder, Maes!" And that was when Roy's hands were brought up close to his face, and the fearsome warrior Colonel Mustang started to sob.

Maes reached out without a second's hesitation. His hands wrapped around his friend's back, the only solace he could give. He felt guilty (and pretty shit) for not realizing earlier. Roy had been brushing away Maes for over a month. There had been the original military statement of Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist and his younger brother becoming M.I.A. although Roy had shouldered that burden brilliantly.

The Lieutenant Colonel had been working tirelessly on the case for a month. That was why his office looked even more like Elicia's cluttered bedroom than usual. That was why he had signed up to do the overtime, just like Roy Mustang and his team. Armstrong had been wandering through the military HQ more often than usual too.

"Ed wouldn't blame you. He would be telling you Colonel Bastard to get off your lazy ass and hurry up trying to find Al," Maes released a weak laugh.

(Roy sobbed a little more, but through the strain he managed to splutter a little too. It didn't feel good – it hurt quite a goddamned lot inside – but it helped nevertheless. Goddamn perfect Hughes.)

"A-are you sure Fullmetal didn't possess you just then?"

"He may have done, Roy. That boy sure does have an influence on us all," Maes said fondly. He cared for the Elric brothers deeply, especially for the older, reckless brother, who had sat around his family table and happily tucked in to stew as if he was a child and not a Dog of the Military.

He loved that kid.

"H-how could that pipsqueak make such a big influence considering he's so d-damn s-short," Roy commented, his sobbing beginning to subside. Maes still held on close; he wasn't going to let go just yet.

Both of the men transcended into silence, waiting for the fuming response of the blond teen about being called short. Nothing came, and that made the hollow daggers claw at Maes' heart even more. He quickly wiped at his wet face; there was nothing to see here.

"I swear to you, Roy, we're going to find them." Maes vowed, each syllable imbedded with the months' worth of endless worrying and sleepless nights. And then he chuckled lightly, "Welcome to fatherhood, Roy."

He could hear the Colonel growl through the layers of military uniform. Roy was beginning to breathe evenly again. Good. Breathe and _focus._

Maes was going to fix that damn coffee machine even if it took him the rest of the day.

But the two didn't move from that spot for a very long time after Maes had finally remembered to lock the door.

Scieska had left without saying a word.

...

"Here." Maes slipped the items into Roy's fingers. Four train tickets for the next morning to Turinene.

"Maes..." Roy looked up. "I'll send you to Hell and back you bastard!"

"Just you wait, Roy-boy," he held up his own train ticket and his lips curled to reveal his fangs. "Because I'm coming too!"

* * *

 _We made it. I feel this chapter had to focus more on Mustang and his team, but next chapter we'll be focusing more on Ed and Al and those creepy white daffodils..._

 _Chapter 6_ Focus _will be up soon. For now though, I hope you enjoyed :)_

 _Edit: Next chapter should be up tomorrow (Saturday). Tests have kept me busy, so apologies for the wait!_


	6. Focus

Focus

"I heard that you could be quite the loudmouth, Edward," that was NoName – no, _Kimblee_ – talking to him. Ed stared stubbornly at the wall past the black man's hair, watching the drugged Al fighting the effects of the sedative. Ed listened to the dripping of water spilling on the floor, staring at the grey wall behind Al.

Ignore it. Ignore it.

"Your coarse language has also quelled during your time with us. I am glad," the man started to whistle aimlessly, leaning back on his chair (which had replaced his pathetic, shattered stool) as he watched Ed hooked up to the machine. Ed still stared at the wall.

On the outside, he looked like a blithering idiot.

His thoughts however, were a different matter entirely:

 _-This man has been stalking you and your brother. What if he wants to hurt Winry too?-_

 _You're just assuming, you bastard. Always assuming the fucking worse. Stop it!_

 _-No, you're the alchemist. You need to rationalise your thoughts. Surrender to logic. This man wants to hurt you.-_

 _If I stay silent, he can't hurt me._

 _-And what then? He went for Al. Who will be next? Which alchemist? How about that Colonel Bastard as you refer to him – he'll generate a mass of energy.-_

 _Stop it._

"Stop it."

"Oh, Edward, have I done something to offend you?" NoName reached forward to stroke Edward's bleeding face, removing the bangs that parted in front of his hair.

 _-Your life is worthless. Think about it. The Philosopher's Stone. They're masses of energy. Not people. Never people.-_

 _Al was a soul, but he was able to think and love._

 _-But he couldn't feel. He was barren.-_

 _Not now! He can see and touch and sense.-_

 _-He can never listen again. He can't listen to your pathetic excuse of a voice. Edward Elric, your brother may have been the bodiless one, but in exchange,_ you _are the soulless one.-_

"Stop it. JUST FUCKING STOP!" Edward screamed, lashing against his restraints. The machine was feeding off of his anger, his pain, and the dials were whirling around in a frenzy. NoName's eyes followed their movement, intently hungry.

While NoName was the enemy in his reality, his mind had become his enemy in fantasy. Edward was beginning to realize…this world was never simple.

It was _painful._

Ed had grown accustomed to having his soul's energy be drained from him on a daily basis. Sleep was a non-existent thing for him. And his stomach was empty since NoName had decided not to feed the Elric brothers after the incident the day prior. It was his _mind_ that was aching. He had been sick and frightened when his body succumbed to paralysis during those short moments when the alchemic voltage pummelled through his veins. His mind was starting to suffer from the toll. He was running out of time…

It was true. His thoughts were becoming less coherent. His body needed nourishment to fight the infection. But NoName had kindly removed sustenance from the Elric brothers too -

Apparently they had had too much _zest_ about them.

 _Zest._ Like a fucking piece of fruit.

"Language, you bad boy," NoName said in a patronising voice. But Ed's mind was wandering -

Al had been chained beside Ed again. Their movement was limited however. All that Ed could manage was to crawl to the puddle in front of them to lick the moisture clean like a dog. Al lapped at the liquid gratefully. But Ed knew it was piss – it leaked through from the room above and in the darkness it was impossible to discern its colour. It tasted stagnant but Ed hadn't given a damn but it was when he had been dragged through the puddle by NoName that he had realized that they had been forced to drinking _piss._

However, it confirmed Ed's suspicions that there were other prisoners in this facility.

 _-Who are they, Edward? Who are they, you miserable boy?-_

For once, Edward complied to the wishes of the arsehole which was his brain. There was no time for subtlety (a week was a lifetime).

Breathe. Focus.

His chest stabbed with each breath that he drew. Kick. Punch.

There more of Ed's ribs were broken. How could he tell? He could see them. His ribs dug into his skin. NoName believed this was removing the blond's _zest._

Well fuck that.

What made matters worse (as if it wasn't bad enough already) was that the infection had spread. Sore blisters swirled over his skin like tattoos from where the poker had been jabbed into his port.

 _Go on. I've been tortured, abused and_ fucked. _Throw your worst at me._

 _Go on go on gogogogogo ON!_

"GO ON!" he screamed. Edward had become numb to the pain, but sure enough the voltage had been upped. It was at its maximum.

"So keen, Edward. Fire it at me!" NoName was shouting and dancing on the spot.

Even this pain was overwhelming. Each time that Ed's body jolted in the chair, agony lanced across his right side. _Burn._

He could imagine the screaming faces of children as they were burnt to death in Ishval by the Colonel. He could feel the heat searing against their skin, a rush of energy so overwhelming it could shrivel up limbs whole. He could imagine flames burning in the sockets of those children's eyes, bursting like confetti in a mass of congealed liquid, with the consistency of jelly or soup. And that was for those who had the luxury of a swift death.

His was tortuously long.

Too fucking long.

Did those fuckers have an infection which was destroying his body (and his mind whatever the Hell was left of it)?

Did those goddamn Ishvalans have to watch in silence as a madman crooned over his subject as if he was nothing more than a piece of furniture - like a stool?

" _GO ON!"_ Ed screamed, kicking against the restraints. His skin was tearing apart as angry red blisters carved its way along his right side. But his digits (ha - he had _half_ the right number now) were throbbing too.

NoName had broken each of his fingers and toes in turn. He hadn't snapped the bone cleanly either. Where walking had been arduous before, now it was _impossible._ Each of his joints curled up and Ed's face smashed into the floor. His front teeth had chipped from the rounds of punches NoName had fired at him as if he was a target for Hawkeye. Some of his molars had been crumbled to resin and because he had been _starving,_ he had swallowed their chalk-like remains. Moments later he would vomit their contents back up as he remembered that he was a _goddamn monster._

And that was about an inch of the pain that was coursing around his blood each goddamn second. It was worse when he was attached to the machine being pumped with an extremely high alchemic voltage. Having a madman dance around in front of Ed was not helping the situation either -

Ed wanted to blow the man's brains to smithereens.

The blond licked his bloody lips, his body banging against the back of the chair as the alchemy worked its blasphemous magic over his soul. Ed could only wait in nervous trepidation for the worst part to come -

 _I wish I would just die already._

 _..._

Stop.

His body just...stopped.

Ed's limbs sagged to the floor, his head and back and stumps all flopped without any attempts of getting up. It resembled a stroke victim. "It" was the bloody mess of Edward Elric.

NoName gave a final cry of delight before turning down the voltage with a series of knobs. Ed could barely move his eyes (which he usually could do - fucking Hell how much power could this machine generate?) and he watched, terrified, and focused on his breathing.

The sensation of being ripped in half should have passed after a few seconds. Ed counted them with each beat his sluggish heart found the energy to conjure (since his mind had surrendered a long time ago). However, when more than 10, 20, 30, 60 seconds had passed, he was still paralyzed. His body was numb and the dull prickle of pins and needles shot up and down his spine. Saliva was dripping out of his mouth; piss out of his shorts; pus out of his infection; and blood just about everywhere else. He would have shuddered but could not. It was a distraction. Anything from the goddamn _pain_ of living.

"Kimblee" had made no attempt to move or say anything. He was looking at Edward with curious, inquisitive eyes that glowed in the darkness like orbs. He reached a hand out to Ed's cheek. Ed wanted to flinch away and withdraw from that icy touch but was forced to endure the dragging moments of NoName caressing him like a precious toy. A very broken toy.

He unbuckled Ed from the restraints and the blond slumped to the ground, breathing heavily, waiting for the darkness to take him permanently to a better place than this.

He closed his eyes. _Get me out of this, Hell. Please._

 _-You think the show is over? Ha...that was just the prologue. There is_ so _much more to come...-_

* * *

 _Alphonse loved the summer flowers. They smelt beautiful and danced in the breeze. All of the daisies and dandelions and buttercups...But there was something about spring that made Al's spine tingle with anticipation. It was the time of year for new growth, for love and_ hope.

 _It was the time of year for daffodils._

 _This entire situation was out of the ordinary. He had been taken and tortured, but when one had been sitting in a damp prison cell for weeks on end, those factors didn't feel abnormal anymore._

 _Al started shaking when he saw the vase of white daffodils blooming magnificently on the table in front of him. It was_ summer.

 _So much had changed for him - there wasn't one moment of continuity in his life. Every day would bring a new form of pain and agony walking through that door to his right._

 _First he would hear the footsteps wandering along the corridor. He would hear the nervous holding of his breath and how his heart started to thud a little faster. And then the door would open and the machine would start whirling he would scream nobody would hear him was it because he was bad bad bad BAD BAD BADBADBADBAD-_

 _"You're a good boy, Alphonse Elric," Al stared up at the figure in front of him. NoName had reached forward, his black locks obscuring his face. He had picked up a white daffodil and was now twining the stem delicately around his fingers._

 _He did not seemed bothered when the younger Elric failed to make a reply. NoName was likely used to the silence by now._

 _"Do you know what this daffodil symbolises?" NoName lifted the white flower to his face, inhaled deeply, and rubbed its petals tenderly across his lips. "It's you._

 _"A bundle is associated with happiness and joy and unity, although the one on its own is a symbol of misfortune. Where would you be without your_ brother _, my dear Alphonse?" NoName sneered at the word "brother" which was odd amid the patronising tone of his voice._

 _A wave of protectiveness surged through Al. It quashed his fear (even though it didn't truly abate it. Like Ed, he wondered if he could ever get over the nightmares of Mama) and gave him inkling strength -_

 _"My brother saved me life..."  
_

 _"OH SHUT UP WILL YOU!" NoName picked up the vase and hurled it against the white wall, where it smashed into pieces. Some fragments hurled towards Al, and as he couldn't fully dodge the glass missiles, some embedded into his skin. He bit his lip and waited for the sudden pain to pass. He could sense three or four deeper cuts and about a dozen more along his ripped clothing, cutting through capillaries._

 _NoName was pacing like a bull. He was breathing heavily. Suddenly, he snapped his head up and stared at Alphonse, who couldn't help but quiver under that crimson bloodshot stare,_ " _WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT GOLDEN BOY? I KNOW YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN A GOLDEN BOY, HAVEN'T YOU."_

 _"My mother is dead," Al hissed icily, trying and failing to disguise the fear edging his voice, "and I would never dare to be such a thing. I'm glad to be_ alive."

 _"Of course of course..." NoName retraced his steps, picking up the shards of glass and waxy petals before ripping them to shreds. "It wasn't you. But Brother."_

 _Again, "Brother" was said with such spite and animosity that something clicked in Al's brain. He scolded himself for not seeing the signs sooner. And between him and his sibling, he was the one better with his words._

 _"Do you...have a brother, Sir?" Al said testily, knowing the dangers of walking into unknown territory, "It must have been hard...watching their success...while you were like a shadow..."_

 _"Oh yes, it hurt," was the abrupt reply. Blood was streaming like tears along NoName's face, as were actual tears._

 _"It's okay...I understand."_

 _"He got to_ murder _people! He got to listen to their screams and writhing agony for hours upon end. It was a wonderful symphony and only because he was the skilled one of us! My parents suggested that while my brother took the path of destruction, I should take the opposite. Creation! I became a fucking doctor to make them proud. But did they give a shit? No. They died," NoName laughed._

 _While the Colonel and Teacher could laugh seemingly without remorse or emotion, deeper down Al knew that both of these adults possessed a hidden motivation; they were laughing at the bitterness of the world, seeing the humour in its flaws. This man however, this sadist, thought that those flaws came when the world was peaceful and perfect._

 _"Aren't you proud of the work you could do? The lives you could save?" Al gasped in shock, pleading with the man's faintest shred of humanity (if he possessed any that was)._

 _"Those that survived wandered free for several years," NoName rambled, his mind lost amid memories, and then a smile beamed across his face, "I then slit their throats."_

 _Al recoiled. This man..._

 _NoName was a monster. And a_ doctor.

 _He could have treated their wounds._

 _He could have saved Brother's infection, but had instead chosen to let it fester..._

 _And then, Alphonse Elric lost his temper. Without his zealous brother to repress the anger, it unleashed itself a series of feral snarls. This was wrong all of it!_

 _NoName glared at Al, whose golden-green eyes had lost all traces of humanity. The boy's hair had grown shaggy and course without being kept and flickered across his face as his neck snapped from left to right, trying to free from the restraints._

 _"MONSTER!" Al's bruises stung like Hell. But he didn't care. He had to get to his brother as soon as possible and get them out of here they had to be near civilisation someone had to help them -_

 _"You aren't being a good boy, Alphonse..." NoName moved with the speed of a hurricane. He was behind Al in a heartbeat._

 _However, as he passed, Al lurched forward and sank his teeth into NoName's palm._

 _The man cocked his head with blue eyes. So blue...And those sky-coloured eyes narrowed to splinters of ice, "How dare you..._

 _"Bite me anywhere else, Elric. But these palms allow me to conduct my art. And you've...bitten into them. You savage fucking little beast!" NoName hollered, kicking Al in the skull before rummaging on the ground beside the dizzy Alphonse._

 _Below NoName was a pile of wires attached to a machine -_

 _The same goddamn alchemy-conducting machine -_

 _And he plugged the wires into Al's ears -_

 _And switched on the power:_

 _Voltage._

 _Al didn't have time to reel back; he could barely compute what was happening._

 _Except he could feel his brain splintering in half._

 _His head was bursting with NOISE. So much noise - a cacophony of noise, an abundance of noise. It started as a persistent buzz and milliseconds later it had manifested into a symphonic orchestra screeching throughout every cell in his body. His mind tried to blot_ any _of it out, but nothing worked. The music moved like a fiend fire through his veins, crackling and destroying his soul's energy. This was the alchemic voltage at its most vicious._

 _In reality he screamed. He kicked and screamed and after his body became paralyzed and became limp his thoughts screamed for him. STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP. It never did._

 _Anything was better than this. Silence was his sanctuary._

 _NoName was sobbing and muttering about daffodils. Al mustered the strength to stare at their waxy petals. Misfortune. Sorrow. Pain. PAINPAINPAINPAIN-_

 _And then Al's captor placed a bloodied hand into the wire end that attached to Al's temple. He began to cackle maddeningly as the current moved from Al into him. All of the younger Elric's strength and passion and loved poured out of him._

 _His chest hurt. He felt like he was being squeezed to a pulp and_ squish! _There went his organs - something had literally squished inside of him. He could hear the blood roar past his head._ Burst! _A major blood vessel in his leg popped under the sheer pressure._ Snap! _His bones began breaking as the current contorted his body into shapes that a child might make their doll pose. Not a human..._

 _Pop...pop...pop..._

 _Al's skull was the last to go. It cracked and crushed him inside up, swallowing him up in a churning darkness like at the bottom of a pit of despair._

 _He lingered there for a minute, a century._

 _However, he could feel that he was still here. Still alive. Still the living dead._

 _..._

 _How was he alive?_

 _The alchemic current around him was beginning to fade; it's energy was dissipating from his body tissues. And he could feel his bones realign and join together...his organs knit together as well..._

 _That was what NoName had created. A Philosopher's Stone which did not require masses of people's souls to control. All that NoName needed was an alchemist's soul to manipulate? And who better than the boy who had been stripped to a soul locked inside a desolate suit of armour?_

 _Who better than a boy who wasn't even human?_

 _-_ You aren't.-

-You gave up the right to be a human when you tried to play God.-

-Sink into Hell, Devil-spawn.-

 _Those were the voices in his head. Al looked up hazily, because he could see NoName talking victoriously, but the words slipped from his lips like a landslide. Nothing reached Al, as if he was drowning in a huge ocean._

 _He flinched as realization struck him._

 _He couldn't hear. The world around him was silent._

 _Blissful, tranquil silence. Finally._

 _But Al could hear the buzzing - so much NOISE it hurt - in his head. Pounding thumping like a fucking heartbeat every second of every day -_

-This is your punishment, golden boy. All stars shine, but then they must crash and _burn_.-

* * *

Ed didn't bother to move. His body was sore and he was fed up with surviving on the barest of threads. He was fed up of being trampled upon like dirt. And even though almost no time had passed since he had returned to consciousness, he yearned for that sweet oblivion of death.

But he wouldn't sleep.

His eyes closed lazily, although his senses remained acutely alert. There was the _drip drip_ of liquid falling from the ceiling, the quiet thumping of his heart, the content dozing of his brother, accompanied by the dull buzzing of the machine as it operated somehow, transferring the raw alchemic energy into a current one could manipulate (an ingenious step forward in silence, Edward had to admit). He didn't know what was worse - listening to the symphony of screams and cries as his body was contorted against its will or this goddamned silence.

This was a new position for him. NoName carried the older Elric back to the side of his younger brother. This was the first time he had left Ed by the machine. Who could reason with a madman, anyway?

 _-You know what that feeling is like.-_

 _No I don't._

 _-The very reason that you have fabricated my voice in your head is a tribute to that.-_

 _Oh fuck off, you._

 _-We're stuck on this journey together, Edward Elric. Slip into that void, and make this pain all go away.-_

 _..._

 _-It will be over in a week. Maximum. Don't prolong the inevitable.-_

 _I'm not going to die._

 _-You're in the slaughterhouse already. There is no escape.-_

 _I'll get Al out of here._

 _-There is no escape from your mind, Fullmetal Alchemist. Never.-_

Ed shivered as he heard his official title. It made him wonder how a broken cripple like himself could be merited as "talented". He had gained fame and fortune for sinning and trespassing into God's domain.

He managed a weak snort in disgust. Fucking Equivalent Exchange.

Al - his baby brother. What had he lost? His body, his soul, his life, his touch, his sensing, his mother, his brother, his childhood, his _hearing._

And him? An arm and a leg.

It wasn't fair. None of this was goddamn fair.

 _-Al has only had his wrist broken, bruises laced over his skin and been deafened.-_

 _I won't let anyone else touch him._

 _-And what about you, Edward? You've had your ribs, arm and digits broken. You've suffered from dislocation, mutilation and you're going to die. You've been used inside out and you're still searching for remorse.-_

 _Focus. Ignore it, dammit Elric!_

 _-I'm always here.-_

 _"FOCUS"_ Ed called shrilly, panting at his losing battle with his mind (was he losing nonono he couldn't slip away yet and give up but oh the thought was sososo tempting).

Equivalency truly was a bitch. Nearly as much as Truth.

His throbbing skull changed his answer automatically. _Much more than Truth._

Suddenly, a dim memory rose in the back of his mind. It wasn't from one of his recent scouting missions as a Dog of the Military or when he was younger with Al and his mother, but during an intermediary period before they had attempted human transmutation. It was a memory about a certain housewife..his Teacher.

She had taught him the fundamentals of Equivalent Exchange one morning before lunch. The Sun had been flaming hot and the grass was parched beneath his feet as Ed had been drenched with sweat. Of course they had been sparring. The adrenaline worked to course its way through Ed's veins, making his memory more acute. He could remember and visualise Teacher dodging his attacks while reading from an old recipe book.

Izumi Curtis had been as elegant as a dancer (who could also kill you).

"You are the circle, and the circle is you. Let the array summon your power - let it help you contain the elements. And then bend it to your will," Teacher had said simply, as though it was the most mundane rule every child should learn.

Ed had attacked at that moment, leaping off of his left foot before his body had curled around, his right leg preparing to hook a kick at Teacher's skull. She had ducked her head, her body a moving rhythm to its own beat, and a swooping punch had sailed straight into Ed's gut.

"Focus you damn brat!" she had hissed, raising her eyes for a second from her page.

"Yes, Teacher," Ed had mumbled under his breath, before shaking away the feeling of defeat and preparing a stance for his next attack. That was just the type of boy he was.

He had learnt more than one lesson that day...

But Ed's tired mind, though clogged with fatigue and fever, was still whirling. That was the bonus of being a prodigy and a goddamn State Alchemist. All of those hours of research and pain and automail surgery _hadn't been for nothing._

His heart flurried in his chest, like a sick songbird fluttering around in its cage for one last stretch of its wings.

Was this feeling anticipation? Was this feeling hope? It had been too long - Ed had forgotten what those sensations felt like.

He smirked, his golden eyes narrowing to crescents in the darkness. He was an alchemist.

He operated through the use of arrays.

That was it. That was fucking it. The machine whirling beside him still had to follow the Laws. Equivalent Exchange existed. The bloody contraption needed an _array_ to activate it. And all that Ed had to do was find the array and _destroy it._

He could then use alchemy and get him and Al the Hell out of this place.

* * *

Roy scratched his head, wondering what he was going to do. This was a situation he had not planned.

Hawkeye was silent by his side. She was coming with him, and the rest of the team knew that. That left two tickets to Turinene.

And there were four members of Roy teamed left over, including a heavily-weeping Major Alex Louis Armstrong.

"It has been the pride of the Armstrong family to serve in scouting operations since the 1720's when Reginald Henry Armstrong devised the technique of silent tracking after he had spent a month locked in a mansion with his puppy Charles," Armstrong was lamenting, his shirt long abandoned. Visible sparkles shimmered around the man's hulking physique, which churned a mixture of awe and fear in Roy's gut. The blond mustached man was wiping tears from his eyes with a handkerchief.

Nobody wanted to say no to the Major.

But there was also Fuery, Breda, Havoc and Falman to consider. Each one of them wanted to join Roy, Riza and Maes on the mission to rescue the Elric brothers. All of them yearned to enact a fraction of the justice due to Fullmetal and Alphonse. No, _justice_ wasn't the right choice of word. The far more colloquial term _payback_ felt more appropriate.

Roy was ready to get his fists dirty and bloody if that was what it took to protect his useless subordinate.

"I have memorised the entire map of Turinine!" Falman was declaring, holding up his proof-drawn sketch of the town's streets and alleys to an uncanny level of detail.

"Everyone here knows I've got more experience than the lot of you in fieldwork. Sometimes it's good to get your head out of a book, _Falman,_ " that was Breda who muttered with unusual icy contempt. This entire case had given rise to the darker demons that rested in all of their hearts - and were only now beginning to make an appearance on stage.

"As a country boy I grew up around the surrounding villages. _I_ have the contacts," Havoc extinguished his burning cigarette, and dropped it to the ground. He started to grind it up to cinders with movements from his boot.

"I have the phone number of every major business in the town stored in my mind," Falman countered.

And so on.

Hawkeye was motionless, her eyes trained on the bickering men in front of her. Beneath her eyes half-moon bags rested wearily, and a neat bruise was swelling above her cheek. Roy didn't question her motives.

They each had their own way of dealing with this.

But he needed goddamn unity at the moment. His team had not felt more divided before.

"May I profess my familiarity with the Greenwood Pastures surrounding dear Turinene where my beloved second cousin Margaret Isla Armstrong has taken up residence for the last twenty-three years. Oh how she would love to provide her humble abode for our needs," Armstrong cried gallantly.

The glares he received replaced any need for words.

Roy thought the situation couldn't get much worse. The boasts and arguments had been hurled across the office (door closed thank God) for the past thirty minutes, and there had been no sign that any of one of his men was going to surrender their case. While Roy admired their charisma and dedication (goddamn pipsqueak had better be grateful) to the case, the Colonel's temper was wavering like a flame. They didn't have _time_ for this.

But when Maes Hughes stepped through the door. Even though a _"Do Not Disturb"_ sign had been attached to the front, the Lieutenant Colonel had not heeded its warning.

"So what have I missed?" Hughes called cheerfully as his glasses bobbled and fell down his face. The man quickly repositioned them. He moved gracefully to stand by Roy's other side.

"Oh for goodness sake," Roy muttered under his breath, scratching his temple to ease away his headache.

"Make up your mind soon, Roy...the pictures of Elicia with her new dollhouse are falling out of my pocket," Maes whispered snidely into his ear. "And I just have to pick them up!"

"I will singe your beard if you move an inch," Roy threatened, preparing to snap if necessary. He wasn't in the mood (as Maes should clearly know).

"You have five minutes to sort out who is coming tomorrow - or else!" Maes sang tunefully, and ducked out of Roy's menacing glare to stand next to Hawkeye, where they began to have a civil conversation about makes of rifle.

Fucking typical.

"I have-" _Whatever._

"How dare you!" _Just stop._

"It's only I-" _Shut up._

"You will stop bickering now unless you want to be put on leave for a month and then you won't be able to come on this mission!" Roy growled, and his team didn't shut up until Roy reinforced his point, "That's an order!"

"Sir," five grumbled replies answered and saluted back.

"Now I understand what this mission means to you - what it means to us all," Roy corrected himself, "But I need three of you to remain here to clear up any challenging business that may arise. We don't know if we may receive another...delivery of daffodils. I have to trust you to have my back, understood?"

It seemed it was the perfect time for a victory speech. His words fell like raindrops, and the room descended into an uncomfortable silence.

And then: "I understand, Sir."

That was Breda.

"My knowledge does not match my scouting ability..."

Falman.

"Alas, I could see dear Margaret on my next leave."

Even the Major.

Fuery and Havoc remained silent as Roy handed both the men a ticket to Turinene each. Havoc grinned at that moment. He was the closest one to Ed out of his team (they seemed to share common knowledge on the farming techniques and shared a love for the outdoors. Well, they both grew up in the countryside.). And Havoc did not offer complementary titles like "Boss" and "Chief" to anyone that he didn't have to address. It was his way of expressing that he liked an individual.

However, Fuery was twiddling his thumbs, his head lowered as he refused to make eye contact. Out of his men, he had least expected Fuery to be the most stubborn.

"Sergeant?" Roy padded over, his arms lazily tucked into his pockets, itching against the fabric of his gloves. They always had to be in his touch now, otherwise he felt too damn nervous.

His fears were reflected in Fuery's eyes. Kain was the youngest member of the team and the least experienced, even if he was a technology prodigy. He admired the boy's charisma and enthusiasm; it had earned him a place on Roy's chessboard, the everlasting game he warred against his opponent to rise to Fuhrer.

"Edward fixed my radio, Sir, and I need to repay my debt," black eyes locked with black eyes in common understanding. No more words needed to pass between the two of them. The Sergeant lifted his right hand to salute his Colonel, and in turn Mustang rested a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

Maes Hughes smiled and shoved the photos of Elicia back into his pocket. They could wait for another day.

* * *

 _Phew this was a good chapter to write. A little bit of fluff *a little little little bit*._

 _Chapter 7_ Break _will be coming soon! I hope to see you then._

 _Edit: The chapter will be up tomorrow (May 4th) - just needs some final polishing._


	7. Break

Break

Al was screaming out his name…

Was he?

Edward wasn't too sure.

He was in a vortex of numbness. It was an escape from the torturous alchemic voltage being pummelled into his skull at that moment. Ed had taken the pain (like usual) but when Kimblee had taken out a knife and started to shear off clumps of his golden hair until he was left with bald patches across his head, he had started crying. He wouldn't make a sound. Ed cried under his breath and wished that the pain of losing his last shred of dignity would end soon.

Al was awake this time; NoName had given him the opportunity to watch.

After Ed's hair had been sheared off, he had felt a tingle, a prod and then a _smack_ at the back of his head. He couldn't turn around, but the throbbing proceeded to become more intense. It was then that Ed had looked at the floor and saw chips of _bone_ flying across the floor like pellets someone might feed to their pigs. Parts of his fucking skull were being strewn away, chiselled away by the sculptor to form a masterpiece.

And then: Voltage.

It was an old routine. So so old and so so painful. Edward couldn't tolerate the pain and even though he wanted to scream in frustration and protest and refute, he was so damn _tired_ of the acting. Acting like he cared. Acting like he wanted to live.

Because sometimes in this Hell, this was the last thing that he could want.

He had listened to his brother cry out in frustration and he had wanted to laugh at Al's quiet (not that quiet however) courage. At least his brother had hope and a chance to see the world once this nightmare was over. But for Edward, he wasn't too sure. He was never too sure.

Except that he would rather escape to a world of numbness rather than stand another second of this reality.

"Quiet today, aren't we, Edward? I don't believe I have damaged your speech receptors, but we never know the extent of the alchemic current's power now, do we?" Kimblee said placidly, tossing the wires providing the voltage to the side as if he was a dentist performing a routine extraction of rotting teeth. Too damn right – Edward's mind was rotting.

Just like his body. He had perhaps three days to live. Four if he was lucky. The infection had spread across this torso already. Under normal conditions (normal torturing conditions that was) , the infection would not have spread like wildfire unless provoked by the numerous factors in Edward's environment that were responsible for his decline.

Blood, vomit, piss, shit.

Broken, fractured, splintered bones (including his skull now goddammit).

Al was screaming something again. Louder than before.

Kimblee tutted, "Poor little golden boy. Messing up his syllables. I think he is trying to tell you something."

 _I'm sorry Al, you don't want anyone as useless as me in your life._

"Oh? Are you trying to tell _me_ something, Alphonse? You know you have to enunciate very clearly. You are disorientated and deaf and initially a side effect could be incorrectly pronouncing your-"

A side effect?

A fucking side effect?

Was this man having a joke, a good old humorous joke to make his sadistic character ever more authentic? Edward knew what Kimblee was – as malignant as cancer.

Or possibly worse.

Having alchemy fired through his brain frazzled all sense of hope and pride in the blond. He was struggling to stay conscious. No matter how much he drank, his throat was always parched. No matter what he thought, the worst would always happen. No matter how much he had tried to comfort his brother, he had had to learn that his brother had been beaten up while he was unconscious.

All that he had had left was the sanity of his mind, and with the voltage churning inside of his head, he felt like that was being probed too. He had no space, no personal space and so he had escaped to the vortex of numbness and nothingness a sweet bliss and paradise from the pain that was too much for him to feel and he wanted to stay there forever and have a damn break from this madness-

When suddenly he heard Al.

"You're a doctor. A DOCTOR!" Ed lazily opened his eyes (more of a struggle with each passing blink) and watched his brother writhe and lash against his chains in a puddle of liquid Ed didn't want to think about. Al's hair was longer than his now, even though his younger brother prided in keeping it short, cropped and neat.

Al was always the perfectionist of the two of them.

And lying crumpled and broken, inside and out, Edward was helpless to watch his brother scream the same phrase over and over again, like a glitch.

"You're a DOCTOR! YOU HELP PEOPLE!"

This was the first that it had ever been mentioned. And even in the blankness of his mind, two thoughts became one, like molecules constructing in a chemical reaction. Kimblee. Doctor. Could have treated Al. The fucker.

Edward didn't value his own life. He had stopped caring about his own the minute he had woken up in this godforsaken place. His only thoughts had been for Al.

His brother needed to live. He needed to love. It was a human function, as real as breathing.

In and out. In and out. Inoutinoutinoutinoutinout. Breathe. Breathe.

Spark. Static. His head.

Breatheeeee.

 _My HEAD._

Focus.

 _I'M IN AN INFERNO. IT'S RAGING AROUND ME AND WON'T STOP. EVERYTHING I AM IS BEING EATEN UP ALIVE IN FRONT OF ME PLEASE MAKE IT GODDAMN STOP AND MAKE IT ALL GO AWAY I WILL DO ANYTHING. I'M BEING SCORCHED ALIVE EVERY SINGLE SECOND THAT I LIVE AND NOW IT'S IN MY HEAD IT WAS MY RETREAT BUT THERE IS NO RETREAT LEFT FOR ME TO ESCAPE TO ANYMORE._

That's what he wanted to say and scream so desperately.

He just didn't have the strength to. So Edward had slumped his head and cried the precious drops of moisture he wasn't willing to lose. He had given his soul. And what had he regained in return?

A broken, decrepid form in the mirror, the ghost of the shell that Edward Elric had once inhabited.

He didn't even want to see the Sun anymore. Even if it was rain, or a streetlight, or that jackass Colonel Mustang being smug over anything. He wanted to see the world so much that it made him want to cry. But the Fullmetal Alchemist never cried.

When had Edward stopped being Fullmetal?

Was it when he had had his dignity ripped away from him by those thugs? Was it finding out his brother would never hear the melodic birdsong again? Or was it over the arduous seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, centuries, millennia of being beaten to a pulp of bloody shit and kicked and smeared in the stuff and being told that he was _bad._

He was a bad bad boy and he knew it.

He knew it and he kept his mouth firmly zipped up so he couldn't make any more mistakes and be a burden upon Al. As long as his brother was not being touched then Edward would be happy and content and allow the madman to drill into his skull to collect his alchemic energy for whatever goddamn experiments he wanted to complete.

"You're a doctor. A DOCTOR!"

 _Help me. Please._

 _-You're begging with your captor for help? Pathetic little rat.-_

 _Help me please. Someone, anyone._

 _-Nobody is coming to help you how many times does this have to be made clear to you?-_

 _Mum. Please._

 _-She's dead, sunshine. You killed her. Don't worry though, you'll see her soon.-_

 _Mum!_

Edward wailed and choked on his vomit as the alchemic voltage left his body, and the familiar sensation (or lack of sensation) of the paralysis kicking in like a course of nerves roaring through his body.

He wanted his mother, or his brother or even that damn bastard Mustang or stern Hawkeye. He wanted _anyone_ to take his mind away from the pain he had become a victim to.

 _Heal me. Help me. You're a doctor._

His thoughts were reflective and simple and pleading. Even his mind's thoughts were at a whisper-pitch, too frightened to be spoken aloud in front of his captor.

Kimblee was usually dancing or ecstatic by this point. At the end of one of their "sessions" as NoName (the name stuck) would call it, he was bouncing on his feet in evident delight and enjoyment. However, he was contemplative and brooding, which made Edward feel even more nervous. What made matters stranger was that he loosened Edward's restraints and left with the machine at hand. He didn't turn back or say another word as he closed the door behind him.

When Kimblee did not come the next day, or the day after, Edward knew that this should be ringing alarm bells in his head. But he didn't have any damn room left to think.

He lay strewn beside Al, watching his brother breathe to keep his own morale from hitting rock bottom. But he was falling very damn close to that point. Soon.

* * *

Train rides were the definition of torture.

 _-Of course you would choose "torture" the most appropriate word…-_

 _-How could you think it, feel it.-_

 _-You enjoy it, don't you. The powerfulness over your prey, their will to live already beginning to slip…-_

Roy took a shot of his espresso and shivered as the scalding hot liquid burnt his throat. The adrenaline preparing him for the mission ahead pummelled through his veins. His world was spinning (a lot) and watching the rolling fields of the East Area zoom by made his dizziness worse. Luckily it hadn't reached nausea. Yet.

He didn't have the time to feel sick, he berated quietly to himself, rubbing his clammy palm over his forehead and focusing on the single map discretely unfolded across the table. He sat opposite Maes who was staring at the map intently. The three others were sitting further along the carriage. If there was a larger group of adults swarmed around a table together, it would only benefit in raising suspicion. From the point of view of an innocent bystander, the two men staring at the map looked like a groom-to-be and his best friend finding the best bars to spend their stag night.

Roy could imagine what that felt like, but then again he couldn't. He was a slaughterer, menace, murderer-

"Roy!" Maes was jabbing the Colonel's ribcage with a pen and went back to looking at the map, "This shop is really famous – we should go there!"

Maes was using the guise that they were soldiers learning to scout the area like tourists. The other passengers on the train often threw the pair a disgruntled look or a snort of annoyance, but no eyebrows were raised. Even if they recognised the Flame Alchemist, nobody would dare disturb his train journey. And this far out East, the people couldn't care any less for the military dogs that stole their beloved and fed them to the desert.

Roy's fingers dug harder into his scalp before shaking his head, looking at the intricate lines that created a sketch of the town's layout. There was a market square in the middle of Turinene that Maes wanted to investigate (like the noisy dogs they were) because there had been…odd reports. The people were scared of something. This "something" was described as a phantom dripping with blood, stalking the streets at night and laughing manically from the shadows. However, it was only the Elric brothers so far (sofarsofarsofar) who had been reported missing from the area. The ties though were almost too good to believe – this mysterious figure was likely to be the boys' captor.

And the Flame Alchemist was going to find them and burn them alive until they were a mangled pile of organs he would then incinerate from inside out.

"I think you need to take a break, Roy. We'll be there soon. Get some shut eye for half an hour," Maes had folded away the map and was sliding it into his chest pocket. He unscrewed the cap of his pen and fiddled with it for a few seconds, as if waiting for his CO to reply.

"I can't take a fucking break, Maes. None of us can," Roy growled, pulling out clumps of his greasy black hair.

"We have to sometimes. For our own sanity," Maes laughed weakly.

"How can we take a break?" Roy said.

"By letting the moment pass for half an hour," Maes replied.

"For _half an hour?_ Half an hour?" Roy spat, directing his anger not at Maes, but at the world. It was boiling in him like a brew in a witch's cauldron.

"Half an hour," Maes confirmed.

"Half hour is an eternity when you're in Hell," he spluttered, choking on the burning hot sand in Ishval…burying alive in the desert wasteland of death and sorrow…

"I know," the green-eyed man rubbed the bridge of his nose warily, his eyes closed and thoughtful.

"Then you understand why I can't sit here and do nothing for _half a fucking damn hour_ ," Roy scorched. The unspoken part in his mind continued: _while those boys are being mangled alive like in a butchers! Like those children we slaughtered in Ishval but did I give a damn then yes but did I do anything no and now I'm doing something to save only two children what kind of fucking monsters are we…_

"You're in no state to see those boys. _Look_ at yourself in the goddamn mirror, Roy. Can't you see what a mess you are?" Maes drew his hand back, as if intending to punch his friend, but then his fist arched downwards to smash into the table. "Listen to me this one damn time, Mustang, or I swear I will drag you to the bathroom myself."

"Is that all you have to say?" Roy asked, his voice barely audible.

"No," Maes answered, "Your hair is becoming too scruffy. How can you hope to be a dashing ladies' charmer this way? Go and get a damn haircut you nuisance."

In answer Roy blew the bangs away from his eyes. His hair proceeded to fall straight back into place.

"You're right," he slid out of his seat, holding onto the back of his chair for support.

"As I've been pointing out from the start," Maes smiled darkly, ducking as an exhausted Roy Mustang imitated snapping his fingers in Maes' direction. The Lieutenant Colonel was experienced to Roy's antics however, and had predicted the Flame's movements flawlessly (as usual).

"I'll take a damn break. But tell the others to as well. That's an order," Roy pointed in the general direction of the other three. However, they were already heeding to his command. Fuery was asleep against the windowsill, mouth gaping open just a little, Havoc was twiddling with his unlit cigarette, and Hawkeye was polishing her rifle. For his team, this was an admirable version of a "break".

"Yes, Sir," Maes said cheerfully.

And Roy lowered his voice, intending for only his best friend to hear, "Nothing is alright right now Maes. But let's just keep trying."

"Except for Elicia's perfect little face in her new tutu! She looks _adorable!_ " Maes squealed and his voice rose to a sonorous pitch. Other people turned around to see what these deranged lunatics (who were somehow members of the military) were talking about.

But by this point, the Colonel had turned around and refused to acknowledge that he knew a family-obsessed man that Maes Hughes existed.

And so as soon as the rattling carriages pulled to a halt at a station, they departed from the train without further delay.

The town was one of the few places in the East Area not famous for its sheep. The elegant clockwork spires and closely-packed housing emanated a prestige reserved for few places. Turinene was famous for its water fountain, and stories stated that the first settlers in the land had found a water spring with the sweetest tasting water. They had built the sparkling structure in tribute to this. Hundreds of years on, and even now it was raised on a dais, like a throne, in the centre of the cobbled market square, which was bustling full of people their trinkets, or with buyers hopelessly haggling for a bargain. Roy would have spared the time if he could. But he prowled past the crowds of people, eyes alert and head turning to survey his surroundings.

There wasn't a rain cloud in sight. Good.

Maes moved by his right side, Riza on his left, with Jean and Kain just behind him. Their marine blue uniform made them stand out in the muter shades of greys and browns and greens, like bluebells in a deciduous forest.

His gloves itched in his pocket. Roy swallowed the bile rising in his throat. This town...

It was too _damn happy._

He thought of the monstrosities that had been occurring blindly under these merchant's noses. It was an abhorrent and abysmal thought. While someone was sleeping safe in bed, boys were being tortured less than a hundred metres away.

 _-You took your time getting here.-_

 _I will find them._

 _-What if it's too late?-_

 _I_ will find them!

 _-How will you be able to call yourself a "human" again?-_

 _I don't. Sometimes, I really don't. So. Fuck. Off._

Roy cursed under his breath. He exhaled heavily, exuding an aura of confidence that was extinguished before the time it had reached his subordinates. He was dreading what was to come. _Dreading it like the coward he was._

He wasn't behind closed doors anymore. He couldn't weep and be Roy. He had to be Colonel Mustang - the strong, determined, driven (ass) leader this country needed. The way he could achieve that was through the people. They couldn't see him as a killing machine (which he wouldn't deny that he was) but as a charismatic figure they could trust. But the people in the East had been closest to the action of the Civil War.

That made for a wary and cautious people. And even if all the time in the world had passed for the rest of Amestris, the East was only slowly beginning to recover.

 _I'm sorry._

He could see the scars of pain hidden beneath their complexions. This was a skill tha tcould only be built from living for years on the battlefield. It was the odd fact that some people were missing arms, or hobbling about on crutches, or had disfigured faces which were too severe to be a mild burn (Roy hadn't caused the injury to these civilians, if that was one good deed he had ever done). It was the scars that lined children's arms, as if they had grown up with these wounds from birth. Everyone in Turinene had been dropped into the same pit as Hell as he had. But he had killed. Those people knew he was in the military. They knew that he had killed. Their silent faces watched him and judged his every movement, the scum of this world. Monster, murderer, killing machine, why does he even bother living why does he not end his miserable life and atone for the smallest proportion of his sins-

 _I'm sorry._

And the Colonel remained absolutely composed on the outside, while his mind was a bundle of nerves ricocheting throughout his skull. He blamed the lack of caffeine.

"Hey, Sir," Maes gestured towards a stall he was passing. His green eyes reflected his own pain and awkwardness surrounded by his fellow veterans in that cruel and bloody war who had been made enemies for the blood that had stained the ground in the lonely deserts, sucked up by the ground like a parasite thirsty for destruction and the death of Ishvalan children-

An image of a bloody and broken Edward Elric flashed in his mind. This boy was not the Fullmetal Alchemist. This was a creature huddled over in chains, saturated with sweat and...other bodily fluids. His arm was pulled close to his side, ribs sticking out, bruises a palette of reds and purples lining his body. It was pathetic, and Roy was pitying the boy. Fuck, this was worse than seeing Fullmetal dead.

"No. We need to _move,_ " Roy gritted his teeth, feeling them be ground to powder in his mouth. That image of Ed curled over like a wounded dog stabbed in his chest. Throb.

"Roy, this is something you need to see," Maes' tone was clipped. There was no arguing with his best friend after all.

They were moving forward past a stall selling Xingese bracelets when they reached the next. It was a fortune-teller who had set up a stall. However, while phonies would have painted eerie diagrams of crystal balls with a ridiculous high fee for having a future foreseen, this stall had a simple painting of two paths. One path led to "Heaven", a land of bright colours and flowers. The other led to "Hell" - an array of darkened hues in a swirling void of crimson red, as if the painter had been quivering in fear painting the abyss of the sinful.

Roy would instantly fall into the latter category.

What further caused Roy to shiver momentarily was the the quote planted on the wall: "I speak the Truth; the Truth is all I See." Even if he wasn't overly superstitious, his feet shuffled on the cobbled stone beneath his feet, his military garb itching and rubbing against his skin.

An elderly woman draped a curtain out of the way, bracelets jangling at her wrist (likely from the stall next door), her eyes wide and blank. Whether it was terror or shock, or a blend of both, Roy would never be able to tell.

And then a figure with a hooded face shuffled out of the booth. Their face and eyes were obscured by numerous scarves wrapped around their body, even in the stifling summer heat. Instantly Roy knew that this person was a psychic; the way they presented themselves dispelled any doubts he had been harbouring moments ago.

"Roy Mustang," the voice spoke, tone as flat as ice. And then the figure's body began to convulse, manic laughter erupting from their fronds, " _He's bleeding, bent and broken and there's nothing you can do. He's going to die. Oh, it may be too late for that!"_

 _I'm sorry._

Roy grunted and moved backwards. The image of a fallen Edward shimmered in his mind's eye once again. He writhed back as the surge of panic began to flood through his veins. Each word sang in his mind, each its own merciless taunt. Murderer. Demon. Scum. Abomination. Sin. Devil. Monster. Killing machine...

"No..." he found himself saying and he staggered backwards, nearly slipping over to the ground.

 _"More people are going to die at your hands, Roy Mustang. Many many manymanymany more people!"_ The figure danced on the spot.

"Sir... come on, Colonel!" that was Havoc, trying to sway Roy out of his vision.

Bloody deserts, sinking sand, howling children. Mounds of corpses piling up around them. He could build a tower with their body parts. Eyeballs popping out..gunfire...laughing and screaming and crying...Death. It reeked.

 _PLEASE NO MORE. NO MORE. PLEASE..._

He had to exert every ounce of his self-control to stop himself from screaming out aloud.

"Make any more ridiculous accusations, and I will shoot you," Hawkeye said solemnly. Roy opened his eyes (they had been screwed shut) and saw Hawkeye at gunpoint with the figure still dancing ridiculously on the spot. He swallowed his heart that was rising in his throat.

And then what surprised him most of all was that the soft-spot Maes Hughes had lifted his gun: "Who are you?

"Roy Mustang has not been to Turinene before. And this far out East, regular newspapers from Central wouldn't always reach your town. The way you instantly came out and started to taunt the Colonel hints that you knew we would be coming," Maes' tone turned to splinters of fury, "And how do you know about _Ed?_ "

A whistling tune was his reply: "We may want to take this conversation elsewhere, gentleman and lady. But I can tell you now, _Edward has been a delight."_

Hawkeye and Hughes shot instantaneously. But their target had darted down a dark alleyway at a moment's notice, as if he had planned the whole fiasco. Now that was a likely option.

Roy didn't think as he stormed down the alley. He would quite happily leave a wake of destruction if it meant he could be the one to lecture his lousy subordinate for not being able to keep him and his brother safe. How had Fullmetal gained the rank of Major? How could he be expected to command an army of soldiers when he couldn't even watch over himself?

The fool.

The man didn't make an effort to obscure himself. He stood leaning against a bin, staring at his nails in avid fascination that Roy found overcome him when he was completing some alchemic research. It was the intent scrutiny of a scientist searching for answers amid the cosmos, and a dangerous mind lurked behind those eyes; this individual, no matter what façade he presented on the outside, was an enemy. And Roy had long been devoid of human emotion when he was dealing with _enemies._

"Edward is a darling, Roy Mustang. And he has given me everything I have wanted. Well, nearly everything," NoName leaned against his foot.

"Don't call him by his name; you have no right," Roy snapped.

"We have become close, him and I," NoName whispered lavishly, "closer than anything."

The seriousness of those words fell deaf upon Roy. He looked up and let his fingers do the talking:

 _YOU FUCKING SCUM BAG I WILL PUT YOU IN THE CENTRE OF AN INFERNO AND WATCH EACH OF YOUR ORGANS BURN AND DISINTEGRATE IN FRONT OF YOU. MISERABLE SCUM SHOULD RETURN TO THE HELL WHERE THEY CAME FROM. I'LL JOIN YOU SOON BUT NOT YET._

The flames licked against the brick walls.

 _BURN BURN BURN BURN DIE DIE DIE YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BE CALLED HUMAN OR SCUM. YOU ARE LOWER THAN HELL._

Someone screamed.

 _I HOPE YOU DIE AND FEEL THE PAIN THAT HE HAS FELT THROUGHOUT HIS LIFE YOU COULDN'T EVEN COMPARE._

Someone screamed again.

 _BURN BURN BURN AND I HOPE THAT YOUR PAIN NEVER CEASES._

NoName whistled. He wasn't scathed in the slightest. Charred remains of rubbish and embers glistened around him, illuminating the haunting smile that the man possessed. His teeth were stained with blood.

"Oh, Colonel Mustang. _You're_ the missing piece!"

And the last thing that Roy registered was a fist being pummelled at his skull, and hearing the cries of pain from another black-haired individual with glasses and marine-blue uniform as he was shot in the stomach mercilessly.

It seemed that suffering would never give them a break.

* * *

 _A little bit of a shorter chapter, although I am sure with the nex_ _t update you'll see why..._

 _I don't like to hurt these children but this is what the plot bunnies command of me. I am at their mercy xD_

 _Chapter 8_ Wonder _will be up in the coming week. I hope to see you then!_

 _This chapter didn't upload correctly. Hopefully the system will behave this time!_


	8. Wonder

Warning: Gore and angst throughout. Read with caution!

* * *

Wonder

The light bulb approximately thirty feet from his position was flickering. It would need fixing immediately.

He wasn't the type to rush. However, he had been patient for so long. So so long and now it was his time to finally emerge - an ember from the ashes.

Kimblee smiled and thought of the old nursery rhyme he had been humming all week. The other staff found it incessantly irritating, but to him it was soothing. It spoke of passion and burning (although not in a sexual context) to overcome all adversity. To strive to become...perfect.

His plan had been perfect (as he had expected from the start). Everything was in position. He could now begin Phase II.

* * *

The way that Kimblee strutted into the cell with his ego worn on his sleeve was the first indication that something was wrong.

 _-Oh you only assume that things are wrong now, don't you little dumbass.-_

Kimblee was smiling. A sinister and evil thing.

Edward recognised that smile anywhere. The Colonel Bastard invented the damn grin. It meant: "I've fucked you over and there's nothing you can do about it."

He had been talking with his brother. However, while their conversations had used to flow so naturally, as if he was talking to his shadow or soul-

 _-Nothing but a soul. You damn brat.-_

However, now there was an element of...attachment associated to Al. He was like a strand of ivy coiling around a tree. Inseparable, even at Ed's expense. He wasn't one to complain-

 _-Saying you who wanted to die.-_

 _Wanted. Do you hear the past tense, you bastard?_ Wanted.

 _-Hmmm, as you say so.-_

Even now Edward could feel Al's arm grip around his neck on the left side, where the infection was a little (such a fucking understatement) better, meaning it hadn't devoured his skin whole yet. It was as if his body was on a train ride straight into the pits of Hell. He could see the broken tracks ahead. There was no way to jump off the train and survive. The only chance he had was to hold on and fall-

He had to bury his head into the insurmountable pain and _live_ through it all.

Which was especially hard considering each breath was a thousand molten daggers digging into his ribcage, excruciating to live with every second of each damn day. Every time he moved, his body would stiffen and writhe and his back would arch trying to eradicate the pain from his soul but that only made the pain worse and his body would contort into weird and wonderful shapes much like his mangled, broken bones. And his mind was breaking too when would there be an end in sight could they reach Hell already-

NonononoNOnonoNONO.

Breathe.

But how could he focus?

With his brother attached to him like a lifeline, Ed knew he had to try to protect his little brother even more. And push beyond his limits a little further...

(Break and crash and _burn._ )

However, Ed's mind was rushing with constant adrenaline. There was the itching trepidation that each time he saw NoName, he would be attached to the machine and that goddamn fucking monstrosity called "alchemy" would ricochet throughout his bloodstream. Whenever the lights switched on he closed his eyes really tightly; he was afraid he was going to see something he didn't want to see but he would have to see anyway. He had to look into his brother's eyes and see pity reflected within those poor, hollow depths. Al, barely able to stay awake, found it a struggle to lip-read and slurred his way through his limited vocabulary to avoid his words becoming an aimless jumble.

Edward even pitied his brother.

But nobody should pity him.

He was dirt.

His very skin was a parasite.

His lungs were engines rattling with the wheeze of death, slipping into and out of its clutches each second.

He was the decay and mould that flies were attracted to.

His brother was sunshine while he was ash.

And Al was holding onto him...No.

 _Don't hold me._

Edward writhed and struggled against the chains that bound him. Kimblee was smiling and coming closer. He could feel Al wince and close his eyes tighter. Lucky bastard. Ed's amber eyes blazed with fury and hate and he was about to spit at the man when Al's grip tightened on his shoulders and he realized that he had _skin contact with another human being. Not another human being because he was filth._

 _Don't touch me._

Kimblee pulled out a knife. It was the same blade he had transmuted at the hotel (so long ago) and it was still crusted with ruby red blood which sent shudders down his spine. It all started with that knife. This entire nightmare started with that goddamn thing.

Edward was moving away. He didn't account for the pain. He couldn't comprehend or understand what he was doing. Fear was a powerful motive, and he was following it blindly.

 _He's going to hurt me and I know it I should be protecting my brother. Why am I running away? I'm not just a coward, I have become his toy. A very broken toy and now he's going to break me forever. I might become attached to that machine for eternity and what would it matter everyone can survive without me. I'm a shadow gone with the night. They see me and then they don't. What does it matter if one half-human, half-machine contorted alchemy freak vanishes from the world?_

 _Don't feel me._

Please.

Have mercy.

 _"Alchemy freak!"_

 _"Dummy!"_

He was a dummy. How true was that.

Ed's mind was a fog of pain. The infection lacerated across his body. It was a mass of pus and debris and material wedged into his skin. The wires had swollen beneath his skin so they jutted out blue, clearer than veins. Clearer than the Sun in a bright blue, blue sky. Like her bright blue, blue eyes...

Bright blue, blue uniform of soldiers...

Would he be rescued?

Not from this Hellhole...but...maybe...from his own mind?

Just for a second.

He would exchange anything.

But who would exchange dirt with dirt? People stood on the dirt - on _him_ \- and laughed a merry jest or two before walking down their own paths. Edward would be left to rot with nothing but his slipping sanity for company.

"It's done, Edward," NoName was crooning as if trying to tame a wildcat (some things simply didn't happen), "I need you to come with me now."

No longer was he being treated as a "guest".

(Hell he was never a guest in this place.)

Even if Edward had the desire to move, he was unable to do so. He was so weak and exhausted from his fight...to do just about anything. He was too tired with it all. He could see his life's light dimming to nothing but a faint glow, while Kimblee's shadow elongated and spread its velvety touch across Edward.

Disorientated, Ed suddenly realized he was feeling a hand on his leg-

 _Don't hold me._

Wincing, he turned around, avoiding the gaze of the taller man. Al was muttering again: "Badbadbad _badbadbadbad._ "

He was beyond reasoning.

Edward held his hand up, the effort causing him to grasp desperately for breath. The manacle was loosened from his bony wrist. He was lifted like a sack of flour and brought over to the machine by Kimblee. And then, as he expected, below one of the knobs operating the voltage, there it was - the array he had been searching for for days. It was a simple design but so bloody powerful.

He was going to break the damn contraption here and now.

Kimblee wasn't paying much attention; his mind was occupied elsewhere in a daydream as it usually was.

All that Ed had to do was move closer, reach out with his left hand...

And break it.

Like how he had been broken.

Equivalent Exchange.

His closed his eyes and as a gallant hero would do, he pushed himself forward, gritted his teeth and prayed. He felt Kimblee's grip loosen in shock; nobody was expecting dirt to fight back.

But he would.

Oh he damn would this once.

His hand flung outwards and with his hideously long nails he clawed vertically down the array, watching it sparkle a faint blue for a second before vanishing. The machine whirled.

Ha!

He'd done it!

It was broken!

Experimentally, Ed feebly (with shaking hands) drew a circle, but from his Teacher's training he had been forced to endure the most arduous conditions without alchemy, and so he should be able to manage _with alchemy._ Years of practice had perfected his technique, and a simple array blazed on the ground, a rock pillar shooting out of the earth like a comet. A fistful of rock pummeled into Kimblee's gut, and the man crumpled to the floor, breathing heavily.

The move had exhausted Edward.

Alphonse was across the room.

He had to get to his brother and steal the key and get out of the door and out of this fucking facility why was there so much to do why couldn't reality have been easier-

He started to hop over away from the machine. Towards Al. He was always moving towards Al. He was shuddering and afraid and needed his big brother to protect him.

Ed stumbled. He didn't give a shit and started to crawl, letting his body inch forwards across the floor-

His port rubbed against the ground at that instant.

He breathed-

FUCK.

PAIN. PainPAINpain.

Swirled in front of him. A chaotic void.

His world. Before his eyes. Like the Gate. But worse.

His body. Burnt. Singed and folded and contorted into magnificent shapes trying to alleviate his pain (againagainagain). There was no voltage there was just his stupid damn body and he couldn't even crawl through shit.

Damn it HURT.

It was like someone was ripping out his organs one by one. Pulling each of his blood vessels from his body, like hair from his scalp. Someone had taken hold of his soul and was wrenching at its fibres so damn hard he was going to fall apart like a doll.

The damaged toy that no child wanted to play with.

PAINPAINPAINPAIN MAKE IT STOP.

Knives and daggers and swords - molten - were being embedded into his skin, making a wet sound as pus exploded from the wound. Blood erupted forwards shortly after, dribbling and spattering across the shit-stained floor and his legs crumpled and he fell into the stuff and he couldn't cry out or even whisper into the darkness.

He buried his head and cried. Cried at the futility of fighting the infection. His mind was still fighting, but his body had LOST.

Loser. Pathetic. Fool.

Damn monster useless without alchemy invalid cripple murderer-

"Bad boy."

Kimblee. Grabbed him. Grabbed him by his right shoulder port. Wedged a knife.

Right. Into. The. Wound.

"aaaahhHHHHHHH" Edward screamed.

Worse. The worst.

Imagine a needle being shoved down your throat, feeling it poke against your heart.

Ed's heart was pounding so fast it could burst like a balloon. Grey walls and blue sparks of alchemy danced before his eyes.

The core site of his infection was screaming by his side. His body screamed when he didn't have the strength to. He blinked in and out of consciousness, dots swimming like little fish before his eyes.

"Bad boy."

Bad.

BadbadbadBADBADBAD B A D.

"You're coming with me. Now," a bark. An order, "However, I'll have to teach you a lesson first."

"Nnghhmmm," Edward mouthed and stuttered, trying to enunciate his words carefully but failing, always failing, " _Not him._ "

"Not him," Kimblee nodded. Did he nod? There were approximately 52 Kimblee's in front of Edward, each drawing a knife out of his shoulder port and wiping the pus off of the metal carefully. He did not sheathe the weapon. He moved, swifter than a shadow. _He was the shadow._

And with a yank, a swift stroke, all of Ed's hair, save for an inch, was swept off his head. His golden locks fell like dead straw to the floor, his golden hair the colour of sun-ripened barley.

"Phase II here we go!"

* * *

Damp. The air was damp. Even in his subconscious state, his first sensation was of dampness. It possessed a smell - a dead carcass left to decay for too long at the bottom of a swamp.

He also smelt...waste. Human waste. Not just...that type. There was also infection, as stifling as a parasite. The stench caused his eyes to unwillingly open.

He blinked, the dim haziness of darkness surrounding him. The world was a blur of twilight shades - inky blacks and navy. It was the colour of an eternal nightmare. At least Hell was colourful; this absence of colour scared him.

When was the last time he had properly been "afraid"? It could have been when Lieutenant Hawkeye threatened to shoot Havoc if she caught him smoking again on the train. Or it could have been when Major Armstrong drew him into a beefy hug which had nearly succeeded in suffocating him to death. Unfortunately, in the back of his mind, persistent as an itch, was the real last memory he had had of being afraid.

It was when he had seen the waxy white daffodils that spilled out of the box delivered to Colonel Mustang, followed by a bloodied sack of wires, metal and flesh. He instantly recognised Edward's automail limb and he had struggled against the wave of nausea surging through his body.

Kain Fuery reached to rub his eyes, missing the touch of his glasses, and failed miserably as he pulled at the restraints. Give him a radio (or for that matter any piece of technology) and he was a veteran in understanding it's function like a mechanic with automail. But he wasn't one for fighting...why did he have to be so weak when his team members needed his help?

Feebly lifting his head, he tried to navigate his way around a room like he was reading from a map. However, he couldn't retain his focus as the walls wriggled before his eyes. His throat was desperately dry. He had only had a large cup of tap water on the train...

And then he remembered. Being shot is something people don't tend to forget. And he wasn't the exception.

He held his breath. And with his tightened wrists he felt across his stomach. Fuery winced as his hand dampened with blood. His blood. Well of course it was his blood who else could it belong to he was the weak one who fell...

At least the blood flow had stopped, although the congealed crimson mass heavy beneath the touch of his jacket illustrated just how much he had been bleeding...

He should have died, he realized and shuddered as the morbid thought fleeted by.

Oh goodness-

The others-

The others!

The Lieutenants, Lieutenant Colonel, Colonel! What if something had happened to them?

Panic captured him, his breathing becoming erratic and especially hard to control. His pulse accelerated as if he was a horse being whipped. Isolation was something he feared above all else he had been alone before he couldn't be alone again not here not now-

"Colonel Mustang? Lieutenant Hawkeye? Hughes? Jean...Ed...anyone?" His voice was lost as a hoarse whisper, brittle against the heavy air. He sounded like a corpse oh what if he was dead he couldn't be dead he had kept a promise to those people dearest to him who were his closest friends-

"Oh you're not alone, little Sergeant..." a hollow voice whispered, "I apologise for speculating however for one of the Flame Alchemist's subordinates you are also quite short..."

Fuery shifted his body, his abdomen screaming in protest and he held on to every inch of resolve he possessed to stop himself from crying out for pain. He didn't hate many things in this world but this feeling of loneliness was one of them! However, he didn't linger on those pessimistic thoughts; he was a logician and had to think this situation through. He had been drilled through the protocol of becoming a prisoner of war or being captured to be interrogated for information. Even if he was a lowly pawn, he wanted to make his mark and ensure that his colleagues were alright-

"You arrived earlier than expected, young Fuery. Otherwise we would have had the room...better equipped for your time with us," the shadow said.

The room's lights flickered on as if remotely. Fuery had to admire the ingenuity of the design; especially in a building like this...there was no word to describe "this". Grey walls. Grey floors littered with blood, urine, excrement...pools of pus and vomit and discharge...every bodily fluid...

And hair. Lumps of once gorgeous golden hair.

A familiar face cropped in the forefront of Kain's mind. It was a smiling face of a boy in a red coat clapping his hands and beaming, handed over a pristine radio set. It set the status quo for radios - and for Fuery this was no minor matter.

"Thank you, Sir!" He had managed to choke in appreciation and awe as he had started to take in the smooth black design of the communications device. However, the design had been tweaked (the changes were barely noticeable from a glance) but the radio was slightly smaller and more compact. Its coat shone with a lustre as if it had been infused with gold. The edges had gained a more curved shape, and the dent he had made in the side when he had dropped it arriving late to work had been fixed too. The work was flawless and perfect.

"Man, I've been really rusty on my transmutations recently," Ed had shrugged away the complement as he drooped his shoulders.

Fuery had gained the impression from the Colonel that Edward was slacker and an outlandish boy who never did what he was told and was a nuisance to the military. While that was true to a certain extent, Ed was also incredibly humble. If he hadn't had his troublesome lifestyle, growing up and losing his limbs in the war, then perhaps he would be able to see what a gentleman he was under a true light.

Edward-

Alphonse-

Everyone!

"Where are they?" Fuery said defensively, but his voice emitted the words little louder than a squeak.

"Safe," NoName said.

"Who are you?" Fuery interrogated. He had to get some information, any information but he was hurt really badly...

"Nobody. A doctor. A monster," the man chirruped, "the usual."

Sweat was splashing down his forehead. Kain wanted to bite his nails, a terrible habit he had developed in attempt to control his anxiety. He focused instead on the pain, as the military protocol had stated, as a means of "escaping from the mind". But it only succeeded in making Fuery feel sicker.

"Palpitations. Exocrine working well," NoName rattled, "oh I apologise, I am so used to being tight-lipped in front of our other guests that I couldn't help but let slip!"

"Get me out of here!" fear spoke for the Sergeant.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that. But do not fear...your colleagues are alive," NoName promised, but Fuery refused to be gullible. He was always so gullible! He had even believed that one time when Havoc said he had proposed to a girl he had met on his first date and she had said yes...Why was he so cowardly and weak?

He had to hold his ground. Not only for himself, but for the others which gave his life meaning. Like his radio.

"My radio - where is it?" Fuery suddenly demanded, staring around loosely, his head still pounding and stomach curling inwardly in protest and pain.

"Oh, that! It's design is incredible, and especially useful for my own purposes. I'll be taking it for the meanwhile," NoName whistled a tune (which must have been his own habit).

"I need that - it's very important to me!"

"A radio is more valuable to you than your own life? You're not precious enough then? Hmmm interesting," NoName seemed to be scribbling notes. Kain's mind flashed back to the journal and he had to suppress a wave a nausea lodged suddenly in his throat.

"No, I'm not," Fuery mumbled. He was speaking his thoughts, damn he wished he could just keep his mouth shut!

"But you're needed, young one. For the big plan - the biggest one yet! And I promise, you won't feel a thing," the shadow whispered, and retreated, and Kain was left trembling in the silence of his mind. A particularly horrified mind.

 _-He said he was "taking" it. Not borrowing it. Unusual choice of words, don't you agree?-_

 _I'll get it back..._

 _-You're not going to get it back. That's the point.-_

 _Edward gave it to me and I intend to repay my debt back!_

 _-I realize now. It made me wonder why you were the pawn. The pawn has the potential to be the most powerful piece...but equally the weakest. Like with any coin tossed heads or tails, it depends on fate which side it lands on. And for you, in this game, you're the weakest of the lot.-_

Fuery couldn't answer.

* * *

"Sir, sir!" There was someone shaking his shoulders. He stared up, expecting to see the miniskirt angels waiting to greet him from the great beyond. However, he grimaced slightly when he saw a solemn Hawkeye sternly looking down at him. What bad luck he had in the afterlife...he still had his own personal Hawkeye to taunt him to complete his ghostly paperwork...

"Sir!" Desperation. Pleading. Longing? So much emotion poured into few words. Why was she so upset?

And then he remembered-

NoName.

The flames.

Seeing Fuery being stabbed in the gut mercilessly by a phantom figure.

"Sergeant!" Roy cried, sitting up instantly, and regretted the migraine which swarmed over his soul rapidly afterwards.

He was with Hawkeye. Sunshine was radiating upon his face he wasn't alone and he wasn't captured and there was no NoName in sight-

"Where is he?"

 _He_ referred to Kain, Maes, NoName, Jean, Ed, Al -

"That man," Hawkeye gritted her teeth and momentarily lost eye contact with her superior. Roy could feel the weight of her pain on his shoulders, a weight greater than lead. What a burden to continuously carry.

"Where is he?"

"The Lieutenant and Lieutenant Colonel have gone in pursuit of the stranger and Fuery. I remained here with you, Sir," She answered in the clipped military tone.

"How long?" He demanded.

"Thirty minutes, Sir. You would not be revived by all means we tried, Colonel," Hawkeye's face had turned a deathly white, and she lifted out a hand to help Mustang to his feet. He was on the edge of the alley, the dull stench of burning rubbish heavy and putrid in the summer air.

He could hear the crowd of spectators babbling to themselves.

So much for this being an undercover mission.

He would have to see that the remaining members of his team in Central prevented the news from spreading further than Turinene.

He could trust them to do that.

There were other more demanding thoughts on his mind at that instant: thirty minutes.

 _Damn weak bastard._

 _Colonel Bastard._

"We move now, Hawkeye," Roy exclaimed. No other words needed to be said.

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

Edward couldn't remember the exact instant that he had lost consciousness. It may have been thirty years ago, or thirty minutes, or thirty seconds. In Hell, time was infinite and his greatest enemy.

He didn't have much time.

He never had much time.

His eyes adjusted to the harsh glare of the room he was in. He was manacled (no surprise), but he was also gagged, and no matter how hard he tried to, he couldn't scream through the gag. It was wedged far down his throat to the point where he felt like he was going to be sick but didn't quite have the stomach to retch up his sorrows.

Dried crusted blood lined his arm and leg and torso (dribbling down his damn face most likely too) and fresh pus oozed from his wounds. He didn't have the strength to lift his head, but his gaze still wandered across the room.

He was forever the curious scientist, the foolish, bad golden boy who stepped carelessly past the boundary to Heaven.

He was thrown back into Hell.

This room was his Hell.

It was so clean.

So perfect.

The air stank of perfume and disinfectant.

Light from an actual fucking window billowed through a set of curtains.

There was a set of table and chairs. Upon which sat crusted and shriveled white daffodils.

And beside him was a machine, although this machine looked oddly familiar to him. He had no idea why it was so familiar to him...he was too damn parched to be able to think rationally for the past few days. Each coherent thought he possessed felt like an epiphany, separate and miraculous.

He shook his head loosely, but the touch of hair against the back of his neck, protecting and warming him like a blanket was gone. His hair. Gone gone gone.

Bad bad bad.

 _Bad bad bad..._

 _Bad..._

"Bad..." Edward understood that someone was talking from behind him, "you're a bad boy, Edward Elric. Although, you have done very well. With this, phase II can be completed and as a result, I can bring Roy Mustang in for phase III and then-"

The man was rambling. Insanely rambling, excited, even more feverish than before. So many countless times before.

"Do you like the room? I designed it especially. Enlightenment - warm colours," Kimblee gestured to the bright window. He drew a hand past the curtains, and the halo of blue blue sky glittered through the glass. It washed over Ed's face, and he was suddenly reminded of somewhere warm and safe, and her lovely blue blue eyes back home in Resembool.

What was his talking about?

This Hellhole had become his _home._

How his mind liked to wander...

"Let's begin!" the man shouted to nobody in particular, but himself. And to his left, the wall suddenly became transparent, and trapped inside a glass tank, gagged also and wrestling against his restraints...was Fuery.

 _-You dragged them all into this. You wanted the attention. You're the golden boy.-_

 _-Look at him - he came here for you.-_

 _-How many people will have to suffer for you?-_

 _-Or are you a sadist? Do you_ enjoy _watching their suffering?-_

 _-Oh, this is going to be fun.-_

The older Elric recoiled. His back was pressed against his chair, and he couldn't move freely (his body was too damn dizzy). He tried to scream and cry and plead, stamping his foot against the floor.

Kimblee was standing at the glass boundary between the two cells. He whistled lightly, the sound the definition of evil.

And then on the other side of the glass, someone completely swathed in black walked into the room. Fuery's eyes widened in shock and he started to wrestle harder against his own restraints (heart thudding, adrenaline coursing, time slowing). The stranger punched Fuery in the stomach. And from the man's muffled screaming, Ed knew how much it _hurt._

His body was a time bomb, and he was slipping into and out of consciousness. The act before him was like a dream. Fuery getting beaten. Blood spraying against the glass. Kimblee grinning his Chesire grin.

Edward's eyes widened. He paused. His heart stopped. His breathing stopped.

Breathe...

Focus...

However, Ed had one of those fucking morbid epiphanies.

He stared at the radio next to him.

It was his gift to Fuery.

And now...it was being used as the hub for initiating the alchemic reaction, inducing that fucking voltage.

Realization kicked him. HARD.

No.

No...

NO!

"NO!" Ed lashed forwards, his body being forced back against the restraints. He attempted to drag himself free of the restraints, but it was to no avail. They were _tight._

NonononoNONONO.

Bad.

Fuery's glasses were smashed and some of the fragments fell into his eyes. The man screamed again.

"STOP THIS OH GOD PLEASE," no sound came out.

He looked. He was forced to look. There was no where that he could turn.

He listened. He listened to the screams.

He wasn't listened to.

His golden eyes stretched open in horror as Fuery's teeth fell out due to the impact of the punches.

In the meantime, Kimblee had moved to his side. The wires were attached to his temples, those wires connected to the machine...

"Sometimes suns die," he whispered.

And voltage.

The pain fuelled the alchemic reaction. Edward could feel his soul expend every ounce of energy he possessed to help Fuery, the Sergeant who was so shy and introverted, but loved his team like his own family. The alchemy fed off his pain and anger and bitterness against this cruel and empty world. The energy rushed out of him and into Kimblee, who was laughing maddeningly.

"STOP THIS!" Ed's unspoken words did not disturb the silence.

Torture was a horrific thing. But silent torture, without the crying or screaming, made it that damn worse.

They were going to die unheard. No last confessions.

He was going to die.

And he was fucking afraid.

Even after everything-

"PLEASE STOP HURTING HIM!" Fuery's gag had come loose, "Leave Edward alone...please...he's just a boy...don't hurt him..."

Ed's eyes glistened with tears. Tears shed from his soul. They pattered to the ground and he choked and gagged and retched the pitiful disgrace of a human he was-

Even in his state, Fuery was still trying to save _him_ when he didn't have a soul worth saving.

Two voices sounded together: one aloud, one silent:

"PLEASE STOP THIS. MERCY. STOP."

"It hurts."

They were unheard - people didn't listen to _dirt._

The figure in black had pulled out a gun. He shot it straight into Fuery's leg.

Ed's vision suddenly brightened, and he was paralyzed. This was further than any alchemic voltage had taken him before but HE DIDN'T FUCKING CARE DON'T HURT HIM.

He couldn't scream.

Another shot. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Leg. Arm. Abdomen.

Ed swayed forwards, and began to choke on his vomit. It hurt. Bits dribbled out of his gag, and the tears would not stop falling. He kept trying to fight to be free and help his friend.

His _friend._

 _-Sit back and enjoy the show.-_

 _NOOOO!_

The world in front of him continued to brighten, and he had not seen so much colour in over a month. It was like a thousand fireflies lighting up the night sky, twinkling as bright as stars. Ed could see the figure lift the gun, and point it at Fuery's head.

"Please...let him be...Ed..." Fuery sobbed, and stared over at Ed.

Time stopped. Edward's vision stopped dancing for a long moment, and he could feel the beat of his heart slow to a halt. In that one second, the space between Sergeant and Fullmetal seemed to melt away. They were together in their suffering. They understood each other. And not just through the constant damn pain. They had memories, experiences shared in which they had laughed, become bitter and cried. One: bold and reckless. The other: shy and quiet but get him out of his shell and he was enthusiastic and lively and those black eyes stared gently into his. Always too damn kind-

Bang.

Fuery's skull shattered into a thousand pieces.

BANG... BEAT. PAIN. NO.

BAD.

He could hear laughter. He could hear the rush of alchemy. His vision swayed...and brightened...all he could see was white...white daffodils...

And everything went black.

* * *

 _"Thank you, Sir!"_

 _Ed shuffled uneasily; he hated receiving praise,_ _"Man, I've been really rusty on my transmutations recently."_

 _But the way Fuery's face seemed to shine, radiating his happy aura meant that Ed had no choice but to smile._

 _"Ed. Call me Ed."_

 _Fuery smiled a little more, stood up and gave the blond alchemist a massive hug. And for once, Ed sighed, and didn't push him away._

* * *

 _A/N: Oh goodness what was that...Poor lil' Fuery. Poor sweet child...Ahhhh I hate the plot bunnies right now._

 _Chapter 9_ White Daffodils _should be up soon. I'll avenge Fuery. I promise._


	9. White Daffodils

White Daffodils

 _Run you goddamn son of a bitch!_

Hughes' body was slow. He had sat in the Investigations office for far too long and that had left him so out of shape. He huffed and puffed as he set his pace even faster, pushing his body against its narrow limits, watching his legs sprint and feet pound against the cobbled ground. His glasses had slipped off his nose and smashed somewhere far back. Thank goodness for the extra pair that he always carried handy in his bag...

Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He was back in Ishval. Running for his life. Running past the houses (running from his nightmares) that were pressing in around him even though they were in front of him all along-

 _Run!_

The roads of Turinene were lost in a blur behind him; all of the colours of the streets muddled together in his peripheral vision. Maes mustered his deeply-buried stamina which pushed him forward, his heart beating faster and faster. Not enough oxygen getting to his head-

He turned left right left right left right so many times that he lost count. He was following the trail of blood Fuery's blood, innocent Fuery oh _God-_

Maes Hughes was a member of the Investigations Department in the Amestrian military and as a result he had to collect himself and remain calm and logical involved in a murder case. He usually controlled his erratic thoughts with:

"They're not suffering anymore."

"Their families can begin their journey to peace."

"Everyone will put in more effort to stop this from happening again."

But when the case affected him personally, it broke that wall he had built and fortified over the years of seeing the decay of corpses and smelling the ruin of genocide. First Ed...and Al…and seeing Fuery being shot. Seeing the broken expression on Roy's face was breaking him apart. Maes was one of these people who felt the pain of others more acutely than he felt his own goddamn pain.

It was shit.

With their CO knocked unconscious, it was his duty as the next highest-ranking officer to take charge, and that meant following this psychotic criminal – _monster_ – to his lair, like a brave knight with sword and shield pillaging the dragon's den for loot.

Except he wasn't brave. He was not doing this because he wanted to. All human desires had left him; he was being driven on pure adrenaline and instinct to protect those who were part of his pack.

Maes stumbled. His glasses fell and smashed on the ground. Fucking hell he didn't have time for this!

"Shitting hell!"

He blamed the adrenaline on the incessant swearing.

He grabbed his glasses roughly and stuck them into his pocket, dragging out his spare pair from the back pocket. These made his face like twice its size and his eyes became as large as an owl's, but at that moment all he needed to do was _run._ And so he sucked in a huge breath, drawing in as much oxygen, and ploughed down to the next street on his left.

The hustle and bustle of the town had been left far behind him. Maes knew he was in dangerous territory (or the monster's territory more specifically). Turinene was quiet. The ground was no longer cobbled but replaced with a dry sand like the desert. The houses were desolate; there was no laundry billowing in the gardens; the windows were plastered over; doors were hanging from their hinges. This was the kind of place a mother wouldn't want to raise her children in. He had a fleeting thought of Gracia trying to spoon feed Elicia banoffee pie after she had been weaned. He shivered; his family wouldn't come anywhere near this place as long as he still had breath in his body.

Maes shivered once again, although the sun's rays were piercing through the clouds and landing like an arrow upon his face. He squinted. The blood spatters were more concentrated here, as if someone had stood here waiting for something holding an injured Fuery for some period of time. Usually Maes would have paused to think his options through and follow through on the most methodical course of action. However, he was desperate, his hazel eyes moving from side to side looking for some window or door…

He shifted on the spot, and felt the pressure below his feet change. It was as if he was sinking through the sand. Maes ducked to the side away from the strange sinking sand. He pressed his foot lightly against the spot again, and let his foot sink through a little. The sand ate at his foot until he felt solid ground. It creaked. It was wood!

This was his trapdoor, or his descent into Hell. He didn't even damn care. Now there had to be a way to open this door…

He fell to his knees, breaking his fall with his hands, and felt for a key, a press…and then. Perfect. A bright blue light shone, and the sand began to solidify into a harder stone. That left the trapdoor free for access. Maes stole a glance over his shoulder – nobody was there – and then he grit his teeth, opened the door and prepared to lower himself into the darkness-

"Wait!" a tall man rounded the corner, out of breath and he had to stop and let his body gasp for breath. _That was what smoking did,_ a parental part of Maes' mind screamed silently.

Maes' eyes narrowed – what was Havoc doing here? "Lieutenant – go!" Maes hissed, lowering his voice to a barely audible pitch.

Havoc stepped back involuntarily to the change in attitude of the Lieutenant Colonel, although Maes did not care how he presented himself. They were wasting time and Havoc was only slowing him down!

"Sorry, Mustang's orders," Havoc shrugged, recovering from his exertion with a wipe of sweat from his forehead with one marine sleeve.

"Tell the Colonel to keep his nose out of this business! This is my-" Hughes stopped as Havoc pulled out a cigarette and barked with laughter.

Did the man honestly have no discretion at a time like this?

"We're all trained for fieldwork, Sir. And I have a good aim," Havoc fumbled about in his pockets, groaning in disgust, "Colonel, have a light? Oh, you're not him. Sorry, Sir. You remind me of each other."

"I am nothing like that seducing womaniser," Maes shook his head. He would only have eyes for Gracia.

"Pft, you're more alike than not. Uncannily so," Havoc snorted amusedly, adopting a far more sophisticated tone to his voice. This side of the Second Lieutenant caused Maes' eyes to widen in surprise, "for one, you are set on protecting everyone around you on your own."

The Lieutenant Colonel shifted his boot, hovering over the trapdoor. From a distance it looked like his leg had vanished into thin air. Jean had spoken the truth. Sometimes he gained an aura of protectiveness and deemed it his responsibility alone to protect the team. But here was Havoc, obeying his CO, and also wanting to help rescue his allies… _friends…_

That unspoken dedication sparked admiration in Maes. This was what true loyalty was about: actions over words.

"Alright, we had better go then," Maes said, and quickly began the descent down the ladder.

Havoc's voice reverted to its country boy tone immediately, "now we're talking! Why couldn't you use alchemy though, Sir? I really need a light right now…"

But Havoc was silenced when they reached the bottom of the short descent into the underground, for there was corridor after corridor of eerie artificial lighting shining ghostly through the gloom. Water dripped from the ceiling, stagnant and foul, and Maes gagged on the air. He knew this smell: it had been ingrained on him in Ishval.

Blood.

 _The screams of the children split the night. In the deserts of Ishval, there was no escape. A huge wall was erected around the city, glowing the bright blue of alchemy, preventing any Ishvalan from escaping. Gunshots echoed and followed, silencing those innocent screams…_

Agony.

 _He held his murder weapon close to his chest. He marched across the sand towards the sound of the screams, few and far-between now. His heart was pounding and his grip on his rifle – Death he had named it – was not strong. His hands were too clammy. A faint moon shone, guarded by a veil of clouds. No stars were out tonight. The spirits of the dead didn't have a proper burial. They were shot and burnt and dragged to the ground like dogs. None of them would reach Heaven; they would remain in a hellish purgatory and haunt his soul until the end of time. With moonlight striking his black hair like a halo ring, he raised Death and rammed bullets into the guts of women and children, hoping to make the pain in his heart go away…_

 _But oh how their silence was worse than their screams._

Torture.

* * *

Everything had become dark all of a sudden. However, his surroundings were beginning to brighten again, the world flashing white. As white as the daffodils that had been resting serenely on the table in the room of enlightenment…

He tried to blink to make the overwhelming haziness vanish, but it wouldn't. Panic began to rise in his chest. He had been to this place before, it was the lingering at the back of his mind locked tightly in a box. He dared not speak about it. The One. The All. The knowledge of alchemy was contained in the contents of that box. It was his Truth, and he looked around, or attempted to, to find nothing but blinding white, as if he was stuck suffocating in an avalanche.

His chest started to heave. He was so open. He was so exposed. Somebody could come up from behind and grab him. He was used to the protection of a wall to lean against, its pressing weight a reminder of where he was. However, he could feel nothing now. He was unprotected and he could be ended by a hot poker in the matter of a second-

All around him. Bright bright bright! It was a harsh brightness, like artificial lighting, or a sun flare. He cowered, trying to make himself smaller to make the dizzying white vortex around him disappear. There was no structure to this place…for all he knew he was falling. The vertigo surrounded him almost instantly and he closed his eyes trying to make it all go away.

Go away go away LEAVE ME ALONE!

Except it didn't.

And then he realized. His eyes were already closed. They were sealed tightly shut.

What had happened? Why was he this tense-

He tried to control his breathing, but he could hear and sense nothing. He couldn't even feel his own corporeal being; he was alone in the recesses of his mind…

Taking in a steadying breath, he opened his eyes…

And all he could see was white.

What the Hell was going on? Why was the world so damn white? Why did he feel like he was falling and there was no end to his vertigo?

 _Ring!_

There was a high pitched ring (that sounded like a wailing) at the back of his mind. It was as if someone was tearing a hole through his brain, like the star being a chasm being Heaven and Earth, allowing sound to seep into his white vortex. He latched onto that sound as a child latches to their mother through the umbilical cord. He tried to reach out for any comfort and he had _no damn idea why what was going on-_

 _-Hello.-_

 _Who are you?_

 _-This is impressive. Were you really traumatised that much?-_

 _Where are you?_

 _-Here. There. Everywhere.-_

 _I can't see you! I can only see this pulsing white place...where is this? The Portal?_

 _-You remember the Portal?-_

 _Yes…I think so. It contains all the knowledge of the Universe. The Truth._

 _-Correct. But what for?-_

 _I'm not sure…that's quite hard…I swear that I'm meant to know…but I don't remember…_

 _-Trauma on the brain has suppressed your memories it seems…-_

 _That's not true!_

 _-Then what is your name?-_

 _It's…well…I-I don't actually know…I know who I_ am _but I can't remember my name._

 _-Then what are you then?-_

 _A dreamer. A catcher. A pursuer for Truth._

 _-Very vague.-_

 _A theorist…a scientist…an alchemist, that is it!_

 _-Well done. That is one minute part of the puzzle fitted together.-_

 _If I'm an alchemist, then I must have seen the Gate. I lost something precious to me…_

 _-What did you sacrifice?-_

 _My body…oh goodness…I don't have an arm or leg…I did it for Mum…I did it for Al…Alphonse! My brother I've left him behind where is here I need to get to him right now…_

 _-There is no point struggling. You will not be able to escape until you work out each piece of the puzzle.-_

 _What is the puzzle, you bastard? Don't keep me here away from my brother! Are you that smug cocky git Truth?_

 _-No, and do not assume all that you know is fact, little alchemist.-_

 _Don't call me little. Wait. I remember! I was called a little alchemist by another smug cocky git…a bastard…Mustard or something. Colonel Bastard Mustang. That's who._

 _-Yes, your banter truly is…amusing.-_

 _Are you being sarcastic? Oh Hell with it. I'm an alchemist I can beat a puny phony like you…I…metal limbs…what did that bastard call me? Fullmetal!_

 _-Welcome back Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric.-_

 _Oh great. Now what am I doing stuck here? Where even is this damn place?_

 _-You seem to have regained your courage rather rapidly. Tread with caution. Not all memories are…pleasant.-_

 _What do you mean you vague git?_

 _-Remember further. Be more specific. Search for the truth. Why are you here?-_

 _Al…_

 _We were seeking…a stone…the Stone…_

 _And we found it…_

 _Alphonse became flesh and blood again. We did it! Now why am I still here?_

 _-More.-_

 _I took him somewhere special. Turinene. Havoc said it had the country's best ice cream parlour. Al loves ice cream._

 _But then…everything became dark._

 _-Close. So close.-_

 _Cold…biting cold…and the smell, I can't-_

 _-Further.-_

 _But that was only the start of it. Pain…and more pain. Reality became a dream._

 _And Al. They hurt Al._

 _-Yes, they did.-_

 _They then took me. T-they…_

 _-They tore you to pieces inside out. They used you like you were dirt and that is what you have become. Dust that can slip through a person's fingers. You are the grit stuck in their fingernails.-_

 _Oh God…_

 _-There's no point praying now, Elric. You're broken, so broken that not even the angels can stitch wings onto your back.-_

 _I flew too close to the Sun. And then my wings melted. I fell. I crashed. I_ burnt.

 _-Here we go.-_

 _And then he came to save me! He came to save me. FUERY TRIED TO SAVE MY PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A LIFE WHY DID HE DO THAT._

 _HE'S DEAD._

 _I KILLED HIM._

 _I AM A MURDERER._

 _I SHOULD NOT-_

 _-What was the last thing that you saw?-_

 _Brains. Flowers. White daffodils with their waxy white petals…_

 _-Open your eyes.-_

He tried. But once again, all he could see was a bright white. His vision suddenly darkened and he was pulled back into the ensnaring clutches of his memory. There was Fuery, pleading to save his life…

 _-That is the last thing you will see.-_

 _…_

 _-Him. Saving you. You tried to play God. And now you're trapped in the Devil's clutches.-_

 _…_

 _-Oh you silly pathetic golden boy. There is no Mummy or Daddy to save you now.-_

 _…_

 _…_

 _Liar._

 _I can…just make out the light…a gap in this white…there…_

Edward reached out towards the slice of grey in his vision, scarring the white landscape like a claw scratch. This was his way out of this hellish place. However, he knew he would be returning very soon.

 _-Do you know what the alchemic voltage did to you this time? Like how they permanently burst your brother's eardrums? Yes, that is the reason that he is deaf.-_

 _-It burnt through your retinas. But instead of going blind instantly, the process is going to take several agonising days. Your body is fighting its effects even as we speak.-_

 _Let me go back…please God…_

 _-I'm not God. I am a figment of your imagination. The darker thoughts. The suicidal contemplations. Your shadow form if you would like a name for me. I am your Shadow.-_

 _Get me out of here!_

 _-There is no escape from your mind, sunshine. We'll speak soon.-_

And then Edward became aware of sensations around him. The voice speaking in his head vanished like mist. He could feel his jaw, bleeding and hear the trickle of blood collapsing on the ground below him. He gagged at what he smelt: raw death. Recent.

He pushed the sickening image out of his head, trying his damn best to control his erratic breathing. He could feel his heart work overtime (when did it not at the moment) and his lungs bloating and pushing out against his ribcage with each raspy breath, threatening to break his delicate bones (or the ones that weren't broken yet). His whole body was sore beyond belief, as if he had been swimming in the frozen lakes of Drachma. Pain lanced throughout his skull, the pressure unbearable.

"Welcome back! Phase II is complete – excellent job, young alchemist! Your potential is absolutely incredible…" the voice of his nightmares. The voice in his head was a narcissistic bitch, but it was a part of him and it was bluntly honest. However, this snake spoke in riddles and twisted his words with exuberant lies, painting a fantasy into Edward's mind about all that could be and will be…

Edward opened his eyes.

He wanted to see his killer with his own eyes.

Because even though he hadn't been killed, the moment the trigger killing Fuery had been pulled, a part of him had died too.

The only reason he was here was for Al.

If it was just him, he would have surrendered to the darkness a long time ago.

…

His vision was blurry and faint like an unfocused camera lens. Gradually, the world began to shift less and the puddle of colours began to arrange themselves into a logical sequence of what he should be seeing. The white room…the blood-stained glass…the table…the daffodils…the nodes lying cluttered on the ground.

He bit back a laugh. How quickly was this happening to him?

Edward's right eye still saw a bright white light. He could tell his eye was open – he blinked and tried to work his eye muscles. However, he knew what it was. Gone! His right eye was gone – blinded and broken like the rest of his damn body and mind. His left eye's vision was tolerable, but the more he strained on making objects coming into focus, they became blurry and distorted once again. His vision was already slipping in that eye now.

It wouldn't be long before he was rendered completely defenceless.

Without his sight he would be able to discern between reality and nightmare.

Why did it matter? They were both the same thing to him now.

He realized he wasn't gagged. He could speak. He could plead and cry out for some justification why this was happening to him. Why this had happened to Fuery…

But he couldn't say anything. Tears spilt down his cheeks – the flow not wanting to stop. He silently wept, his one good eye blurring with the heartbreak of his soul. He didn't make a sound or weep. There was nothing left for him to give. Nothing!

"Oh, Ed? Why are you crying?" Kimblee moved swiftly and bent down so he could wipe the foamy tears from Edward's face. He recoiled to the touch but kept on crying and burnt with the raging hate he had seething throughout his body for Kimblee. He projected every thought and feeling of pain he had experienced, hoping it would make Kimblee fall dead in his tracks. If he had the strength to move his arms…he could end the monster here and now and get revenge for Fuery but he was so damn weak, he couldn't do it…

"You cannot surrender though. You wouldn't want your friend to have died in vain," Kimblee tutted as if he was scolding a school child who had said an incorrect answer. That caused anger to bubble within Edward. His automail arm was gone and his other arm was broken into a series of contorted shapes, like some sculpture on display in an art gallery, but he could still feel.

He could feel fucking pain.

A growl rose in his throat, rippling like a wave past his larynx. The air shivered and Kimblee had no time to step back as Edward lunged forward to bite at his face.

Edward's canines made contact with pink flesh, and he dug in. Hard. He tightened his grip and shook his head from side to side. Blood drops spat outwards in all directions, covering Ed's face. The taste of iron was strong in his mouth.

And Kimblee was laughing, "so much power!"

With that the doctor buried a fist into the ground, and Ed's teeth ripped a chunk of flesh from the man's face before losing contact. Yellow sparks of…alchemy…shot out of the ground, channelling an alchemic current far stronger than what Edward could transmute. And Kimblee didn't need a transmutation circle. Instead of relying upon souls of the Philosopher's Stone, extracted from a person's body, he had extracted and broken apart energy from the soul itself, while inside its vessel, Ed's body. The energy connecting a soul and body was far stronger than a soul detached and the pain and suffering that the soul had endured had hardened it, made it that much stronger.

Edward's energy store in his soul was massive, and now Kimblee was pooling that energy into himself by applying an alchemic current. And with the use of a radio, Edward suddenly understood where that energy was coming from. Kimblee had to use a specific frequency, like a radio.

Just like…

 _"Call me Ed."_

Fuery…

He had never seen any alchemy like it before.

Edward was bound, and an invisible force clamped against his throat, restricting his airways so he was unable to breathe.

He couldn't save one.

What about the others?

Alphonse…

Kimblee seemed to be able to read his thoughts, for he said, "you let an innocent man die. How would your brother feel about you now? Monster."

The last word was spat as if he was an abominable creature from nightmares.

Simply, he was.

Alphonse wouldn't want to be anywhere near him. The younger Elric didn't deserve to have an older brother that couldn't protect either of them. Edward has been searching for five helpless years just to get Al back in his original body, from failed transmutation that had been _his_ fault. And as soon as that neglected and abused body had been brought back from the other side of the Gate, Edward couldn't keep his promise. Again. Al's body had become neglected and abused.

Again.

Worthless.

Ed had also succeeded in making one of the world's most crazed scientists infinitely more powerful. And here he was sitting in his own vomit and blood, shivering and cowering like a frightened kitten doing nothing to protect the people that he had vowed to protect, whether they shared his blood or not. It had been his fault for being ignorant about Turinene.

 _-You were unconscious for nearly a month. Think about what Alphonse endured then.-_

 _-Mustang's team. Why would they care for you? They nearly drove themselves beyond the point of no return for them. Picture the bloody paint that would spray the walls…-_

 _-And Winry. Didn't you promise never to make her cry again?-_

 _-This is your punishment for trying to keep your word. You were dead the day you performed what was forbidden. You, just like your brother's body, have been on borrowed time most likely. It took a little longer for your debts to catch back up with you though.-_

He glanced up, like a beaten dog submitting to its master. There on the table was the vase of white daffodils. The glass had shattered in places, but the waxy petals were still blossoming lazily, greedily sucking up sunlight for photosynthesis, struggling to keep themselves alive. It was ironic –their stems had been cut off and without roots, the plants had no chance of surviving in the long-term. However, they were "alive".

Much like Edward.

That was the last thing he had ever seen with his right eye. The white petals…possessing more strength to stay alive than the Fullmetal Alchemist did. And the pink deposits of brain matter…

Death clung close to him, but it wouldn't _come_ for him. He was an observer to the deaths of those around him, while he suffered, half-alive in this insufferable reality.

Alphonse wouldn't be able to look at him after this.

"I understand your pain," Kimblee started, "my brother despised me. Mummy and Daddy never seemed to notice my existence. He was their shining star…but I was nothing. Dust to them for my brother to trample over. I had to learn to make it through this world on my own. Just like you will have to…"

"D-don't drag Al-" Edward protested, his lips hoarse, amazed that there was still fire in his soul…somewhere, when everywhere else at every other moment day and night he felt horribly _numb._ He was interrupted when the force pushed against his throat again.

"Do not interrupt. You are a bad boy," Kimblee flicked some of the blood out of his black hair.

 _Bad._ "N-no…"

"Bad boy," Kimblee tutted again.

"P-please n-no…s-sorry sorry so-rr-rr-y…" Edward muttered, fearing what was going to come. More voltage to make his brains explode? Would it make him deaf like Al this time? Would he finally pass through the void and sit in Hell and finally feel warmth again? Because this in-between, it was worse than both Heaven and Hell.

There was nothing here.

A foot stamped on his broken leg, snapping it in a series of places. Edward always thought that he had grown accustomed to the pain, however, he realized that he never would be as he screamed.

He cried out for the physical pain, mourning the loss of the strength that he once possessed, mourned the loss of his beautiful golden hair and the loss of his eyes and everything that was being ripped away from him at once. And he was crying for a deeper loss to his pride, dignity and all the feelings that he had locked away that had been unhinged from their chest at the back of his mind and trampled upon the day that the men had come for their 'sunshine'. But worse of all was for the people he had lost. He couldn't look at them again. He couldn't…they wouldn't…not after Fuery….

Oh God…

It hurt.

"Where are your wings, my golden angel?" Kimblee cooed, and with a wave of his wrist the force pressed deeper into his neck, making his airways tighten, and he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness.

Nothing went black; everything went white.

* * *

He shuddered. He breathed. He waited in the gloom for somebody to come and get him.

Nobody came. Not even Brother.

He had struggled to get out of the chain's hold, but it was impossible. Alphonse Elric in the armour would have been able to snap the metal chain in two like it was a pencil if he didn't have this pathetic body to contend with. He had been searching for this lump of skin and bones for years and years, forcing his brother to accompany him through countless struggles. They had altered history looking for Al's body, but when they had finally found it, Ed hadn't managed to come through the transmutation with his real limbs back. Stuck with automail.

Stuck with Al.

The younger Elric had reassured himself that his brother wanted to be by his side forever because he loved him. Al knew that was true. But he also knew what a burden he had become through his rehabilitation.

And his new body needed to sleep. Who would be there to guard Brother at night?

His new body needed to regain its strength. How could he protect anyone while he was helpless through months of rehabilitation?

After those months, when he was starting to gain some muscle on his feeble bones, they were captured, and he had become useless over those three weeks.

If Edward had been left awake and Al was the one who was put in the deep unconscious sleep for those endless weeks, he would have found a way out of the facility. They would be shocked, scared, but alright, likely to be back at home in Resembool munching on honey-glazed apples or Winry's homemade ice cream. He would take a wrench to his head every minute of every day if events could have turned out that smoothly.

Because sitting in the darkness, he could see through the gloom, but he didn't know what was happening.

He was traumatised.

The constant noise in his head, ringing like a bell, was like a pickaxe being bashed against his skull. He didn't know if he had been left in the darkness until he died and rotted away, or if someone would come back for him.

They had dragged Edward with them.

Al closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and tugged at the restraints again. No luck. Keep trying…like Brother…

 _-Look down at your shorts.-_

The voices in his head had become the only voices he could hear. Their sounds were discordant and twisted, like he was forgetting what voices were meant to sound like, allowing his imagination to become creative.

He looked.

On his lap were several strands of wispy golden hair.

He choked back a scream, holding onto the remnants of his brother, wondering when they would ever see the Sun again.

* * *

 _I promised an update by July! And I'm sorry poor Elrics...one blind, one deaf and both very broken :/_

 _The next one is called_ One Down _\- the title says it all. But more on that next time. :)_


	10. Broken Truth

Broken Truth

His leg was fractured and he knew it the moment he stood up to put pressure on it as he sprinted out of the alleyway. Or at least he thought that his leg was fractured – it was likely to be something worse than that. Likely caused by where he had fallen over. Landed in an awkward position. However, Roy Mustang didn't say a word as he carried on forwards. Havoc had left little hints and clues of the path that he had taken.

But the sickening stench of blood in the afternoon heat was more than enough to lead the way.

Soon enough they reached it. There was a trapdoor hanging wide open, with a strangely-erected stone pillar to the side of it. Hughes had been and gone already. A part of him hoped that the man had decided to stay and wait until he had been able to catch up with them, however, he knew that this was unlikely to be the case. When something hit Hughes personally, he took it very seriously (biggest understatement of the day, Mustang).

"Are you ready, Hawkeye?" he said, his voice disguising the pain that was being caused by his throbbing leg that ground against his skin like a rock being chaffed against it. He could tell his eyes were bloodshot: they were watery and itchy all at the same time.

"When I have not been, Sir," Hawkeye replied, her tone indifferent. That was the problem, Roy could never detect when sarcasm was in her voice. She closed her eyes and sighed lightly, "just be careful."

"Of course," he waved his hand nonchalantly in the air, reaching down for the handle of the trapdoor, Hawkeye several paces behind him. Suddenly, there was a loud rumbling and crackling of alchemic energy. The rock pillar was _melting_ as it contorted and changed shape under the influence of alchemy.

Roy froze. This was not _alchemy_ , but more like a _voltage._ The blue sparks of current glowed so brightly, unnaturally as if the reaction had an unseen catalyst. Too bright…too fast…too late.

A fully transmuted golden tide of sand swept down upon the Colonel and his Lieutenant.

He didn't have time to take a breath before he was submerged by heat. The reaction had not only transmuted the rock into sand but heated it up so the sand grains were the colour of overripe tomatoes, burning a cherry red. He had his gloves on, but Roy was completely submerged, and the sand was a dragging weight on his arms; even the faintest movement was a momentous task to his aching limbs.

Roy last saw the menacing rays of sunlight before he was dragged with the tide. If the moon controlled the tides of the sea, then he decided that the sun must be controlling the tides of the sand. However, he knew there was some deeper science at work…except that without oxygen that was damn hard! His world had become a desert orange in colour and he could smell the musty odour of sand, like food gone stale, and salt, and books left on a shelf for long enough that they had collected a layer of dust.

Couldn't breathe…

 _-So, is this how you're going to end?-_

 _Not now, you bastard!_

 _-I'm insulted, Mustang. I am a part of you.-_

 _I'm damn…trying!_

 _-Yes, you are, as every other living thing does before they die.-_

The sand and grit was beginning to blur his vision…and his body hurt…a part of him was tempted to admit defeat and float in this sea of sand until the end of his days.

However, he couldn't do that. He heard the cry and flash of blue several metres from his position, and without thinking, he was swimming through the falling sand to reach that person's side. He clasped the Lieutenant's shoulder and her body stiffened, before she began to kick against the sand with all the force in her body. But they didn't know which way was up or down or left or right – for all they knew they were struggling to reach downwards.

When suddenly, a thought occurred to Roy. He was damn useless in the rain, but here in Turinene _it was not raining._ Sand was formed of silica, containing the elements silicon and oxygen. If he could separate the molecules and use the flammable hydrogen present in the air, he would be able to disperse the sand with a series of miniature explosions. That would give them enough time to push their way out of the sand.

His theory had several major flaws. One: gloves – how was he supposed to reach his gloves when each time he moved a cascade of sand replaced the empty space? Two: space – he couldn't judge how great a radius he would be hitting meaning he could injure Hawkeye or himself. Three: hydrogen – if he was buried too far beneath the earth, would he be able to obtain a sufficient supply of hydrogen?

He squeezed Hawkeye's shoulder twice. This was their signal.

Roy transmuted. What else was there to lose?

The sand molecules began to break apart, alchemically by command. However, Roy had barely channelled any energy into the transmutation when already the covalent bonds were breaking. And as an alchemist, he knew the energy input was far higher to break these specific bonds; they were some of the strongest between the non-metallic elements. And then hydrogen rushed in, meeting with the oxygen and causing a series of _bangs_ to break the silence.

The weight dragging the officers down vanished, and with a heave, Roy broke through to the surface, panting heavily. It had been sheer luck that they had been near the surface. He had nearly died on the first fucking obstacle.

Hawkeye's hair had fallen from its clip, and she was readjusting it. She then ran her hands over each gun she carried, tightening her belt, securing holsters. She worked in silence. Roy, still on the ground, started to lift himself when he winced, frustration curling his hand into a fist, resulting in a punch that hit the earth next to his useless limb. His goddamn leg!

"You'll need this, Sir," Roy felt a long piece of wood and bandages being thrown down at him. Hawkeye had found the stick further down the alley and was zipping up her first aid kit.

"It's nothing," Roy said dismissively, but Roy looked into her brown eyes, and saw her reluctance to let the matter pass. She was as stubborn, if not more so than he. Riza Hawkeye was also the more assertive, especially towards her CO.

"This is a battle you're going to lose, Sir," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Fine," he hissed, and struggling to grab a hold, ripped off a section of the bandage, deftly securing knots. The movement was natural considering how many times he had been taught the emergency first aid for injuries back at the academy. After a minute, he had made a satisfactory makeshift splint.

Without so much as grimacing, he opened the hatch and climbed down the ladder into the darkness. His leg was in agony, yes, and his head was thumping so badly that he wanted to curl up and fall asleep, yes, but that wouldn't stop him.

"Typical," Hawkeye muttered under her breath, but she continued to follow her superior officer without another word. They left the world of light and entered a place familiar to them both: Hell.

* * *

Maes finished etching the last of his _M's_ onto the side of the wall, at eye level for Hawkeye to see, for Roy would be too oblivious to notice. Maes had to admit, he was struggling to keep his focus on the task at hand. He was threatened to lose his mind each time he saw a bloodstain. This case was personal, and he worried for his boys.

Havoc had gained information from a lackwit guard that the tunnel that forked to the left, the left wing it had been called, was the cell block. Somewhere down here was the cell used for the Elric brothers. He was nearly there.

Sitting curled up in the corner of the room, puddles of liquid and bones scattered around him, was a huddled form. It was hard to tell which one, but when Maes identified four flesh limbs instead of two confirmed his suspicions. It was Alphonse. After the dead ends and the endless searching…the days that had spanned by him like years…the sleepless nights…

But before he could take a step, the boy started screaming a blur of words. He couldn't discern what the boy was saying, and after the long silence of the tunnels, the sound came as a shock to the system for Maes. He stepped gingerly over the puddles, but then decided he didn't give a shit and strode as quickly as he could towards the younger Elric. Al was staring at the floor, but flinched and gazed upwards when he saw Maes' reflection cast by the stagnant water (that's what it smelt like anyway).

"Alphonse, it's Maes," Maes said soothingly, but the boy wasn't looking at him, but rather in the direction towards the door.

"B-brother, s-sorry, b-brother, s-sorry," Al was mumbling and repeating, and he didn't seem to have heard Maes. It was only when the Lieutenant Colonel shuffled did Al look up at him. Maes' eyes narrowed in suspicion and he said something very quietly. Al's confused gaze only confirmed his thoughts.

"Fucking hell," he swore, and this time Al knew what Hughes was saying through reading his lips.

"S-sorry, H-Hughes, b-bad, c-couldn't b-brother!" Al wailed and fell onto Maes' shoulders. Maes was taken back from the absolute terror in Al's voice a moment ago to the desperation the boy was experiencing. He wanted the familiar reassurance of an adult, and be told that everything was alright.

 _-He'll never be able to hear that though.-_

 _-Well done, Lieutenant Colonel. You found them – isn't that what you wanted?-_

"We've got you, kiddo. I promise, we'll get you and your brother back safe," Maes whispered, even though he knew that Al couldn't hear him. Anger grew in his chest. What had those bastards done to the Elric brothers? From the state of the cell and abused Alphonse, Maes knew that Ishval had been child's play.

* * *

The place was a labyrinth that probably stretched it an entire network of tunnels below Turinene, and in either direction all he could see was the dark possibilities that lay onwards. The lights flickered and threatened to turn off, but they seemed to hold. He wanted to create a light; however, he knew that due to the lack of oxygen in this confined, stuffy space, the flames would quickly die and it would have been a wasted effort.

 _-A wasted effort. Hmmm. Just like this mission.-_

The stuffiness in the air did not help the sickening stench that filled his nostrils: blood. It was metallic and bitter and he retched, almost being able to taste the stuff. He shook his head, ignoring the sparkles of pain going up and down his leg and took the first turn to his left. He followed the corridor that was the most well-worn, because there he would find what he was looking for. Finally. A pair of brothers. It had been too long since he had heard the hot-headed rants of his subordinate, and he had missed the remarks. Not that he would ever confess to that of course.

Edward was missing his automail, however. He hoped to find the boy in one piece. And Kain. And Maes. And Jean. And Al. Roy knew by instinct he would not be leaving any single of them behind. Not again.

But he was afraid. He was afraid not of what lurked in the shadows, but of what would happen when this situation was resolved. After Ishval, things had never been the same again? Would the Elric brothers ever be able to come out of this ordeal unscathed?

He would have to wait and see. But the quicker he moved, the faster he could reach the Elric brothers.

Colonel and Lieutenant hastened their paces, and followed the stench deeper into the enemy's lair. He kept his eyes focused ahead, and they moved like this for a long time. The tunnels stretched on, and the labyrinth branched off with side doors. Roy continued to follow the main trail because this is where the Elric brothers would be. He knew intuitively that they would be at the heart of the facility, because knowing Fullmetal, he was at the heart of everything.

The familiar pit of anger began to well up inside of Roy. The boy had had a difficult past; most of the time, fate was against him. No, the world was against the teen. He had given both his mind and heart to the causes he fought for.

He was at the heart of people he knew, albeit not in a sentimental way. Edward could light up the office with a snide remark, through his silent diligence, and through his ability to connect to his study and people equally. He was a multifaceted person, and had matured through the years Roy had been acquainted with him. Their bond was shaky, but each possessed a certain respect for the other, or was the case in Roy's mind.

"Sir," Hawkeye interrupted, and pointed to an indentation to the wall on their left. It was a small carving at Roy's shoulder level with a large _M_ etched on the surface.

"Bastard has come this way," Roy muttered, but was grateful that Maes had taken the initiative to follow the trail deeper into the lair. There was a reason that he was his best friend, Roy considered gratefully.

Further along their trail, tension brewed inside of Roy like storm clouds. The air was becoming more stifling, and his breaths became uneven. He stared stoically ahead and swallowed the surge of nausea threatening to rise up his throat. This place was evil. It seemed to emanate the feeling. So much gloom and darkness and pain held hostage in one place could only brood evil.

How had the Elrics survived in the darkness for so long? Without seeing the light of the Sun, knowing they had survived another day…

That is what had helped Roy through Ishval.

He paused as the two arrived at a fork in the road. One path veered to the left and the other to the right. Hawkeye moved in front of him, wary of the guards (the facility had surprisingly been abandoned until now) but as they began to enter the hub of enemy territory, they had to exert higher levels of caution. Hawkeye coughed and pointed to Maes' signal. The man had taken the first tunnel on the left. Roy nodded in understanding and turned to take the other path on the right, swallowing the trepidation threatening to engulf him.

Only seconds had passed before he saw the footprints, and damp puddles beginning to form. The stench of urine filled the air, and Roy's appetite was quashed. With each step he took, another horror was added to the trail on the ground. More puddles. And bloodstains. They started as drops, which turned into puddles that grew into muddy-red streaks that stretched along the tunnel and stained the walls-

"Duck!" he heard an angry Hawkeye command, and she fired bullets at a man approaching from the right. He moved out of the way with a second to spare. She dodged the blows from his gun before responding with the rattle of her own. Roy felt his gloves itch, but knew that Hawkeye could handle this singular guard. The next round she fired proved that her aim was true, and the man dropped to the floor, silently screaming, as blood welled from a leg wound.

Roy didn't waste a second on his interrogation, "where are the Elric brothers?"

"None of you' business," the man answered stubbornly, but cursed as Roy stood on his foot with his good leg.

"Tell me where they are," Roy demanded, but the man spat in the Colonel's face. The silent treatment it was, "tell me if you value your life, dammit!"

"I'm a condemned criminal anyways. Don't matter what 'appens to me," the man stifled another scream as Hawkeye landed a bullet through his palm.

"Shit, you're ruthless aren't ya?" the man directed his question at Hawkeye.

Hawkeye pointed the gun at his face, "I will make you suffer a thousand hells if you do not answer the question. Do you know what it's like for an artery to be blown up but you don't die for the following day as your body writhes in agony?"

Roy's face paled but he didn't make his fear for Hawkeye's statement to change the expression on his face. He agreed with her wholeheartedly. He shouldn't have been so surprised by her reaction though; Hawkeye was a human, and had limits to her patience too.

"Alright there, darlin'. No need to throw a tantrum!" the man looked sour, and scanned from left to right, but there was nobody else around. "Kimbers took the stumpy one down this corridor. Third door on the right. The other is still in the cells, the taller one, down the left wing."

"So Maes' job is Alphonse. I am sure he has questioned a guard too," Roy nodded his head to confirm the methods of the Lieutenant Colonel, who should have been with Havoc right about now. Therefore, it was his duty to journey onwards and find the older, but shorter, member of the Elric duo.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Hawkeye muttered and rammed the end of her gun into the man's head. It was a merciful outcome, as he would wake up with a splitting migraine. Roy frankly didn't care about the guards – his wrath was tuned towards NoName.

"Wait, Hawkeye, the man said 'Kimbers'", Roy stated, his eyes widening.

"Does that mean-"

"The Elric captor-"

"Kimblee?"

Aside from the fact that their synchronisation never failed to faze him, Roy's stomach churned in sickening disgust. Solf J. Kimblee was a monster. He revelled in the destruction of his enemies and allies alike; the sound of destruction and death and bloodbaths was like a symphony to the man. And to discover that he had relatives that were not secluded to the Central State Prison shook him greatly.

Their enemy could easily be a mass murderer just like his relative.

That thought hardened Roy's resolve to reach Edward sooner, as soon as possible. Hawkeye sensed his urgency, and they passed the first door on the right, the second door on the right…without encountering anymore guards. Suspicion rang louder than bells in his head.

They had reached a junction that snaked to his left; Roy suspected this was a connection point between the left and right wings as the man had said. He looked down at the ground, and suddenly shivered, the first sensation he didn't compose. Hawkeye covered a hand over her mouth in shock. Fresh blood stains lined the ground, and amid them, clumps of golden hair, leading further down the tunnel they were heading down.

Nobody had golden hair this…flamboyant, even if they dyed their hair. Even Alphonse's hair, despite being a similar shade of gold, was never quite as bright as his big brother's. Edward had passed this way, and recently at that. A lump was caught in Roy's throat – Fullmetal was here. He was here and they were going to get him out-

By this time his leg was excruciating, but as much as he wanted to take a damned break, he didn't. He couldn't.

The third door on the right didn't have a guard posted in front of it. Nodding at Hawkeye, they stood with gloves and gun with their backs to the door and stormed in-

 _Bright. White._ Glaring sunlight…

He grimaced, his face squinting as he adapted to the suddenly bright surroundings after being in the suffocating gloom for what felt like an eternity. What followed next was the overpowering smell of disinfectant and bleach. The walls were scrubbed clean, including one side of the wall which was covered with glass, revealing an adjacent room, which appeared to be empty. And in the middle of the room was a chair and a boy, his head lowered, facing him. The boy had golden hair that was raggedly cut short, not reaching past his ears, and his frail body was stooped. He wasn't even shackled to the chair, but he made no effort to move. He had scratches and bruises lining his arm and leg, the other limbs missing so only stumps remained. From his right shoulder stump there was a gruesome infection festering, which pulsed ooze and discharge. There were chunks of metal stuck to the port and the infection had spread from his shoulder across half of his chest and down his side and arm. The very sight caused Roy to begin quivering.

He called out the boy's name, "Edward."

He didn't even get a response. The boy only cowered deeper into the chair, his blank face staring into nothing. Roy and Riza approached the blond, and crouched by his side.

"Edward, it's Roy Mustang, your superior officer with Lieutenant Hawkeye. We've come to get you out of here. We're going to take you home now," Roy enunciated his words carefully and slowly, letting the boy register them.

Suddenly, life seemed to stir from within the boy's skeletal frame (and horribly atrophied muscles) and he stared straight into Roy's eyes. One eye was glassy and didn't focus properly, while the other was beginning to glaze over. Roy could see the struggle Fullmetal was having at focusing on who was in front of him.

"G-go away. D-don't come b-back," Edward whispered. The sound was frightening to hear from the Fullmetal Alchemist. Roy had to repeat the title to himself again: Fullmetal Alchemist. Such a fearsome name for such an unruly kid. And here was the title's namesake, a creature who was barely alive, barely breathing.

"We won't do such a thing, Edward. We aren't going to leave you again, I promise," Roy vowed earnestly, meaning each word he said with each bone in his body (including the broken ones). And then he noticed the juts and misplaced lumps that appeared across Edward's body, where bits of bone had been so badly broken and neglected that they had started to reform in entirely the wrong place. It was a miracle that the boy wasn't crying out in agony.

"I-I'm h-home," Edward sighed pathetically, his eyes red from where he had been crying. Roy didn't know how long the boy had been crying alone in this room all by himself, and the solitude the boy must have experienced without his brother. At that moment, Roy couldn't bring himself to see the teenager as an adult; he looked so vulnerable and weak. Delicate. That was a thought he never believed he would have associated with the moody, sulky blond over a month ago. But then Roy had ignored the reports of dangerous activity going on in Turinene, and had granted the brothers holiday leave to visit a world famous ice cream parlour…

"No, you're not home. This place isn't your home," Roy confirmed, trying to convince the boy, who didn't seem to react to anything he said. He just sat there like a wilting flower, picked too early and left to rot in the baking Sun.

"C-colonel…I-I b-burnt my h-home d-down. L-like m-me, it's d-dirt," Edward stuttered, failing miserably at curling his fist, so his fingers barely wiggled. The move was so futile, and Edward only slumped even more, as if he hoped to vanish into the chair. He had given up. That fire no longer burnt from within those angry golden eyes.

"You're not dirt, Edward," Hawkeye said gently, and brought a hand towards the boy's hand when he flinched.

"Do not touch me!" Edward's hoarse voice choked, and his face was quickly damp. Both Colonel and Lieutenant quickly moved backwards, giving the boy his space.

"Okay, Edward, but we need to help you to stand – we are going to take you somewhere safe with your brother-" Roy didn't finish. The kid's good eye widened in horror and he unleashed a bolt of fury that caused Roy to stumble backwards in surprise.

"DON'T LET ME NEAR, AL. I WILL KILL HIM. I'LL KILL YOU. I KILLED HIM. IT WAS THE LAST THING I SAW. I KILLED HIM AND I WILL KILL YOU GO AWAY!" the last part came out as a choked moan, as Edward's voice finally surrendered. He was shivering, and tried to curl himself up into a ball. He looked like a stray lost in the rain he had forgotten a life outside that of torture and neglect. It was terrifying to witness.

"Fullmetal, you're coming with us, now. That's an order," Roy snapped sharply. The defeat that emanated from the boy like an aura was sickening like the scent of bleach. From Edward's appearance, he knew that the boy had been beaten bloody, but right now, that couldn't be his focus. He had to get the boy out of there and quickly. The cavernous labyrinth of the enemy seemed to have been abandoned, but Roy could not take his chances. A part of him yearned to stalk the tunnels of this place and burn every damn thing he could see and when he saw Kimblee he would tear him apart, but his subordinate's safety had to be his priority.

He expected the fiery hothead to retort with something to Roy, or any move of defiance that showed Roy that somewhere beneath this beaten frame Edward Elric was fighting to escape, fighting to defend his brother and be a brat to all who knew him. But there was nothing. No reaction. No response. Only a weary sigh, "d-do wh-what you want."

"Fullmetal?" Roy asked, his hopes dwindling like the setting Sun.

"S-sorry, Colonel. He's gone," Edward answered sadly, looking up at the Colonel with sad eyes. Roy had never felt so defeated in all of his life.

In Edward's eyes, the short genius punk that was the Fullmetal Alchemist was dead.

* * *

 _Maes' point of view happens at about the same time that Roy finds Edward, just as some extra information._

 _So I had a ponder and changed the chapter name - it seemed to reflect the finality in the tone. Poor Elrics..._

 _My WiFi has been terrible these last couple of days, but if it decides to behave, I can get updating faster again. I hope you enjoyed!_


	11. Cloud Refuge

Cloud Refuge

Through the windows of Central Command at the summer afternoon, Major Alex Louis Armstrong sighed contentedly at what an impeccable sunset the sky would conjure that night. He was an amateur photographer himself, a certain skill inherited from a certain Reginald James Armstrong going back some three generations when the technology was being developed…

"What a fine day this is, gentleman!" the Major exclaimed, earning him a series of sighs in response from Falman and Breda.

Armstrong lowered his hand to his left, so it rested on the Colonel's desk, where the telephone was being held. He brushed it every few moments or so, waiting for a phone call, or any sign that the dear Elric brothers had been retrieved and that they were safe and sound. He solemnly closed his eyes, knowing intuitively that they were likely not going to be alright immediately, although the Major could hope.

He would do whatever it took to ensure those boys' safety.

This sunset recalled fond memories of when he had attended the automail fitting of Edward, and he had chopped wood gracefully in the front garden (using a technique passed down the Armstrong generation with spectacular finesse). There had been a beautiful sunset that night in Resembool too; he remembering rising from his burst of exercise to look up at the hill. There, standing silhouetted against the sunset was a young boy with a dog by his side, standing in silence by the ashes of the past. The boy clutched the dog firmly due to his absent leg, and the right sleeve of his coat billowed freely in the country breeze, where that limb was missing too.

Sitting on the front porch was a broken Alphonse too. His armour had been tattered to pieces, and a gaping hole had had to be covered with a sheet to prevent people from seeing the truth that rested beneath the sheets of living armour that housed the boy's soul. Al had been gazing at his brother too, the Major knew it, and the younger Elric's helmet was bowed, his single feather-like strand of hair on his helmet blowing from side to side.

The Major had watched and wept silently inside, mourning that which the Elric brothers would not cry for themselves.

His fingers tapped once again at the phone line, winding the coil around his thumb before releasing it. The movement was monotonous and allowed the time to pass faster through the stifling office.

In his peripheral vision he could see the box with the white daffodils left untouched behind where the other members of the Colonel's team were waiting for the time to pass by.

There was nothing they could do now; all preparations had been completed. Colonel Mustang knew of a safe house and a doctor to take the brothers too upon their return to Central

"Second Lieutenant Breda, should we inquire via radio communication as to the progress of the investigation from young Fuery?" Alex attempted to disguise the urgency from his voice, albeit knowing he had been unsuccessful when Heymans nodded in agreement.

"Would this be alright, Falman?" Breda consulted the human encyclopaedia, who was fittingly reading a book entitled _Criminal Records Eastern Branch 1900-1910,_ and the Warrant Officer looked up sharply.

"The Sergeant was able to adjust the radio connection in order to bypass Central Command and the military's record of all transmissions three weeks and two days prior…" he incited, his head returning to being buried in his tome, but Breda did not disguise his impatience.

"Can we contact Fuery or not, Warrant Officer?" Breda asked sharply, a little too clipped than Falman was used to by the way his body suddenly stiffened.

"Yes… I do not see how the highest risk factors would jeopardise-"

"Good," Breda said, turning to give the signal to the Major.

Armstrong then moved his muscular body from his spot next to the Colonel's desk and weaved through the office until he reached Fuery's workspace. The young Sergeant had one of the cleanest desks, except for the large, obtrusive pieces of technology that rested beside his paperwork like metal companions. The Major stared at the buttons and dials, remembering the instructions an enthusiastic Kain had propelled into his mind. Turn the left dial 90 degrees clockwise…flick this switch…

There was a whirl and a hum as the radio came to life, and the Major nearly flinched backwards, the process nearly tearing his military jacket to seams. A red light started flashing, and the Major grabbed a pair of headphones, slinking them past his impeccably groomed blond curl resting on his forehead. This was the signal that Fuery had instructed him about.

"Dear Sergeant, please report your status," the Major incited, word-perfect, a skill that had been inherited by his great uncle, Alfred Armstrong, who was blessed with his photographic memory. Alas, that would be a story to tell another time. All he had to do now was wait for the response on the other end; however, Fuery's main focus on this mission was to act as the communications between Mustang's team and Armstrong's team still at Central Command. The Sergeant had informed the Major that he would be particularly prompt in his reply, unless an emergency prevented him from having access to his gear.

Alex thought that was the case now. All he could hear on the receiving end was static.

Fuery said he always answered.

He waited for several long moments, wondering if there was a potential flaw in the equipment. He was about to lift the device to examine any potential damage to it, but then suddenly, it began vibrating. It sounded like a low drone, before increasing in volume and intensity, until the very desk itself started to shake. Breda and Falman were behind him now, summoned in a panic at the ruckus being caused at Fuery's workspace.

"Oh God," Falman whispered, and uncharacteristically, he grabbed the Major and ripped off the headphones from his head, throwing them across the office.

Alex barely had time to comprehend what was happening; the Warrant Officer was shouting complex words into the air, but they fell upon deaf ears. They may have had a breakthrough! They may have finally been able to communicate with the team in Turinene…after so long without seeing the Elric brothers, and even though it had not been long since the Colonel and the others had parted ways, he felt he had not seen them for an eternity either.

Why had Falman done that?

However, his question was being answered as the headset began to vibrate violently too; smoke was rising from the radio at this point too. With a blinding flash of bright blue light, a searing high pitch sound reverberated around the room, making all three members occupying the space to stagger and fall onto their knees, clutching their ears in equal shock and fear.

And then – voltage.

Blue alchemic sparks danced forth from the radio like bolts of lightning, ripping through the air they breathed and in turn the molecules that formed its basic composition. It was a powerful and terrible rebound, alchemy as it should not have been.

He could imagine screams of two tortured boys witnessing the death of their mother a second time after the rebound hit them. The Major shivered.

The air had become cold, jagged like ice. He was leaning over, staring at the sparks before his eyes, inhaling sharply; sweat beaded along his forehead and precipitation escaped his lips with each exhale.

What on earth… was that?

The whole world was not only cold, but his resolve had chilled too. He had been shaken, as if the transmutation had sucked the life from his bone marrow, leaving him feeble and shaking like a coward. For once, he didn't possess the desire to rip of his clothing to express his emotion. He dispelled the feeling with a firm clasp of his knuckles, burying his fists into the ground to help him rise to his feet.

"Gentleman, are you alright?" the Major spluttered, wiping his mouth and brow with his handkerchief.

"I'm alive," Breda answered blandly, rolling onto his back, as he stared at the radio, which was now a mass of dust. He sneezed, "damn allergies."

"I don't know…" Falman faltered, "what caused this alchemic rebound. I don't know…" It was unusual for the Warrant Officer not to know something, and without that security blanket of knowing, he was susceptible to doubt, a trial for any deep thinker like him.

He knew something was wrong, and although he could not leave immediately (enough suspicion had been raised already with Mustang leaving as abruptly as he had), he could make a phone call. His aunt Margaret would be expecting guests after all.

He prioritised their safety over his pride as an Armstrong. Always.

* * *

 _He saw a boy in a red coat storm angrily out of his office, not wanting to speak to his superior officer ever again, although he would be back when his lead proved to be a dead end. His younger brother turned around and bowed, apologising on behalf of his reckless brother and quickly followed the hot-headed midget down the corridor, his armoured body clanking against the floor, leaving a sonorous ringing in his office. It was never quite the same without the Elric brothers, as though the life force was dulled until they made their untimely appearance back at headquarters – which could have spanned days or months, when Fullmetal had no other resort._

 _He hated returning to that place._

Standing there in the room of the brightest white he had ever seen, Roy Mustang realized that the office would have been a sanctuary in contrary to the Hell that had tortured the living shit out of him. The Elric brothers didn't have a home in the office; Roy understood that they had no home to return to when Edward had announced he had burnt it to the ground with a flame kindled by his own hands. That was part of the silent promise the brothers had made with each other to ensure they could not turn back, but on this tremendous journey of theirs, they needed familiar places which could give them rest bite from their ceaseless search, if only for a day or two. The Rockbells were very special to Edward and Alphonse as were the staff of his team who had formed close bonds with them over the years that crawled by. Even though the brothers had not recovered what they had lost, they had formed allies along the way, friendships that had morphed into a strange family that was dysfunctional to say the least.

But it would do.

The ambitions of becoming Fuhrer were only made stronger by the work and effort that his team put in. And it wasn't just the paperwork they completed at work; it was the memories they had made along the way, through the trials, that had made him want to protect the world.

Being with the people that understood the madness that life spewed, and the shit cards that fate had dealt out for them. They didn't need to put that into words, because it was enough to realize the importance of strength in the team, much like the wild wolf pack.

And the heart of that strength was shrivelled, crouched and going blind on the floor in front of him.

The thing that had the body of Fullmetal, the same hair, the same physique, the same absent limbs. However, it was as though the stuffing had been taken out of a toy, or the strings detached from a puppet. It had even denied being Edward Elric.

 _Don't think like this, Roy,_ he shook his head sternly to himself as he watched the pitiful creature look at him with sad eyes, one of them seeing, before drooping his head again, patchily cut hair not failing to cover his defeated complexion. Out of the horrors he had seen in this world, seeing the kid this broken was something he had never wanted to see. While he knew that prisoners of war were kept and tortured for information, the Elrics had obtained Alphonse's body back (and it was only Edward's they needed to retrieve next) and deserved peace in their life in return for their hard effort. A damn break for their work. Equivalent Exchange.

Edward had placed so much faith into this law of alchemy; he had based his life around its principle. And it had betrayed him. The boy would not want to trust anyone again, however, Roy knew it was the way Edward to get out of this hellhole.

"Edward, do you trust me?" Roy said, neither gently nor harshly. He wanted an honest answer, he needed an honest answer. He needed to know…how much of Fullmetal was actually left. And whether the stoic hothead was gone or not.

The blond cocked his head in confusion, as if not understanding the question and his gaze returned to the floor where he took several long moments to contemplate the question. His face was expressionless, but before Roy was about to coax him, there was a light shake of his head.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, but I-" the blond choked and shook his head more violently, "I just don't k-know a-anymore."

He had refused contact, so all the Colonel and Lieutenant could do was stand by and watch as the boy wept the remnants of his soul out without tears. Now he seemed to be holding onto something, and whatever that something was was straining to keep the lost and fractured boy held together.

"That's okay, Edward," he answered shakily, not knowing exactly how to respond. He wished Maes was here, the one who was good at comforting others and relate to how they felt. Roy understood the torment the boys had endured, especially through the horrors of Ishval, but he found it nearly impossible to connect with others. He preferred to keep his demons as far out of the reach of others as possible so they couldn't get hurt by them. They couldn't get hurt by him.

They made him someone he was not.

But this someone slumped in front of him was Edward. No matter how defeated or bruised or broken. He was alive, and Mustang didn't have to imagine the monstrosities he had witnessed while in this dark pit waiting to see the Sun, trying to break out but each time being captured and dragged back into Hell. It was like a vicious nightmare, one which he couldn't ever wake up from. However, torture had become Edward's every day, and therefore the nightmare was unescapable.

"We have to get you out of here," Roy said without realizing he had spoken. Dammit. What he was thinking and what he was saying were completely different things. Why could he be a schmoozer and also be able to flirt easily (despite that all being a pretence) but be unable to talk to the blond who needed the reassurance right now?

All that Roy had wanted to know on that dark day when the needle containing the morphine had been inserted into his vein by himself, and the only thing to end the madness was to push the plunger all the way down, and watch the fluid empty out into his body-

The dosage had been pitifully low; it would not have killed him, but he would have become dependent on the stuff.

"Don't deserve it," Edward muttered, and the boy refused to elaborate, and he slipped into another bout of silence. If he spoke or dared to speak, the feelings he had been bottling up would break loose.

Roy couldn't take another second of this. His resolve was shaking.

"Edward. You don't have to listen to me if you do not want to. I will say it however many times you need me to say it to you. Even if you think you deserve nothing, you have earnt the rights to do anything. You have helped this world and saved so many," Roy spluttered, earning him a frightful stare. Hawkeye exhaled lightly, in silent agreement to his words.

"I didn't save him," that was the most certain thing that Edward had said throughout their time together. Roy puzzled was about to query further when there was a knock at the door. Hawkeye, prepared as always, rose stealthily to her feet and was beside the door in an instant. She released the safety and her fingers clutched carefully over the trigger. Her breathing matched her heart rate, and her eyes became unfocused and detached; it was her way of coping when she shot someone in the face for them to never rise again. Even if she wasn't going to be killing anyone, she was inflicting unnecessary pain. However, Roy recognised that detachment in her steely gaze as one emotion: anger. If he entered the office to see Hawkeye looking as furious as she did there, he would have attempted to run away from the mounds of paperwork just waiting for him to fill them up. Her emotions were beginning to surface now; like his own, her resolve was shaking. Seeing how these people had been treating Edward. They could not be classed as people.

Monsters.

And as the door creaked slowly open, two guns pointed at each other. Two people stared hostile for a long second. Hawkeye's fingers were at the trigger, but before she could operate the deadly weapon, her eyes widened in shock realisation as Jean Havoc stepped into the room. Hawkeye dropped her weapon and her back leaned against the wall, sweat dripping down her forehead. She wouldn't have hesitated to threaten to load a round of bullets at Roy's face two months ago when he had failed to complete his paperwork. However, this place was putting him one edge, and that feeling was clearly mutual with both Havoc and Hawkeye. Havoc placed a hand on her shoulder, relieved, and saluted her. She nodded in mutual respect.

He turned to face the Colonel, disguising the form of Edward, asked quietly, "have you found the Chief, Colonel? We found Alphonse in the opposite wing-"

Havoc started, but when he saw goodness knew what – the blond hair, the stumps, the small physique, all of the signs indicating towards the figure being _Edward_ caused the Second Lieutenant to yelp in excitement and he began to tread his way carefully forwards.

"Stay away from me!" Edward growled, wary, his hand reaching out behind him, pushing his body backwards. It was horrifying to witness the boy moving backwards on his broken bones, the skin laced with the infection stretching grotesquely. The boy then coughed and spluttered, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He needed medical treatment and rapidly.

"Chief…" Havoc looked down solemnly at the alchemist huddled for a moment before raising his gaze to report to his superior officer, "Hughes is bringing Al with him. No other lifeforms found in the basement thus far. But…"

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Roy demanded, his tone authoritative and tense. Edward had winced when his younger brother's name had been mentioned, apparently out of reflex. Roy couldn't believe that Edward, who would fight with tooth and automail to protect his little brother, the entire reason he had decided to take up Mustang's offer of becoming a State Alchemist and suffering the ordeal of automail surgery in a year. Most grown men were fearful of the pain automail rehabilitation entailed. And he had been thrown into a chaotic world of military and politics, and the antisocial kid had had to adapt to life on the road, when he had lived the first part of his life in a rural village. Alphonse too, a quiet and kind boy, had witnessed little girls playing happily in the snow one day and crying out in a distorted whimper of a chimera the next. Both of the boys had endured so much, too much...

Roy straightened his back and attempted to play the role as commanding officer, although his body screamed in exhaustion. Havoc looked shaken; Roy had to be strong for his team. And especially for the Elric brothers.

"Sir, I don't think…" Havoc paused and finished, reluctant to complete his report yet. He glanced over at a silent Edward, and Roy understood.

"Where is Hughes?" Mustang queried.

"He went on ahead with… _him,_ " Havoc didn't want to upset the older Elric brother as much as Roy. Discretion was required.

"How is he?" Roy's voice wavered.

"He'll live, but he clung to Maes so tightly as if his life depended on it," Havoc, usually light-hearted, was playing with his cigarette packet in deep thought, "Hughes is taking him to the Major's relatives. Their mansion used to be a functioning military hospital, you know."

Roy knew that Al's life _did_ depend on it. The demons locked in their drawer in his mind snickered. When Maes had found Roy with the morphine, he had wept and been unable to let go of the sleeves of his best friend, who stayed awake with him for the entirety of that night. Roy never spoke of it, but that didn't mean he had forgotten.

And for the shit to happen to those boys…how was what had happened to them _justified_ …his thoughts kept returning to the bloodstains, and this big bright room wasn't helping.

"Colonel!" Havoc suddenly shrieked.

He turned around and dropped to his knees. Edward had collapsed, and the cuts on his arm were starting to bleed heavily.

Every other thought left his mind as he dove forward to pick up the boy and drag him out of this Hell himself. And then he would return to roast every fucking person in there alive without mercy. That would be something he would do _alone._

* * *

Alphonse wanted his brother. He wanted to feel safe at home in Resembool with Mama and Brother and everything would be alright. That is what he had promised himself, and the only thing that was keeping him from screaming out aloud.

He nuzzled against the warm figure that was carrying him. His guardian angel. Out of the depths of his Hell, this person had taken him, lifted him from the ground and carried him out of there into a paradise. And the Sun had beamed down upon his face, and Al had felt like he had been born into an entirely new world. The smells…the colours, so wonderful and bright…and the _light_ that danced against his skin showered him. He was surrounded by its protection like a gauze. It was a wonderful sensation, better than getting his body back. He would spend hours crying because he wanted to see the Sun for a second, to remind him that he was alive.

But there had seemed to be no end to the torture for Brother.

He wanted his Brother.

He struggled feebly, but was soothed by the touch of his saviour. The Lieutenant Colonel was likely talking to him, but he couldn't hear because he had been a bad boy…

" _Bad bad bad,"_ he thought and muttered under his breath. And suddenly, the summer's day felt colder, the shadows lengthened and the clouds in the bright blue sky darkened. He could see the shadows wrapping themselves around him, waiting like a panther to pounce and strike and he would be gone.

It was going to happen he knew it he was going to be punished because he had been a bad bad boy…

Al thrashed and started to weep, struggling to free himself from the torturous mind set Turinene had bestowed him with. He yearned to forget the torturous weeks of watching his brother being used and he would sit there helpless…he had needed to sleep desperately, and when he had fallen asleep for five minutes was when they would come…bad bad people who did bad bad things to Edward it was terrifying.

And only Brother understood. He had been there with him and looking after him when he had woken up.

Alphonse never wanted to have to fall asleep again so he kept biting his lip and the pain would keep him awake for a little while longer…

His world was becoming so much darker though. And he realized that was because his eyes were becoming droopy and he was falling asleep. The rhythm of being carried lulled him into a sense of security, and he latched onto that comfort, the touch of another that he had been unable to feel for so long after it had been ripped senseless from him when he was ten. When that ability returned, he had been locked away in a dungeon without being able to feel warmth and the cold of the basement reminded him of the night they had attempted to bring their dead mother back to life-

He groaned at the pain inside of his head, but he couldn't hear the sound he made. He had likely whimpered because he was a weak, pathetic and bad bad boy-

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He stirred from his semi-slumber and raised his dreamy head, gazing at Hughes' finger which was pointed towards the sky full of fluffy white clouds, and then his hand moved downwards towards the west.

Al's eyes widened in surprise.

In front of him were…clouds. Clouds on the ground.

They were standing and walking in pastures overlooked by a giant mansion. There was ivy trailing either side of the main entrance, which boasted a fountain with the Armstrong crest on it. However, Alphonse's attention returned to the dancing clouds which appeared to be alive. He realized that they were sheep, a fairly mundane sight after having grown up in the countryside, but to someone who had been locked in the dark for six weeks, the house and the cloud-like sheep moved Al to tears.

This place was safe. It could be his cloud refuge.

And with that he closed his eyes, the last thing him seeing was the fluffy white sheep pelts, and he allowed sweet dreams to take him for the first time in an eternity.

* * *

 _This one was initially quite hard to write, but after the writing flow came, this chapter came out fairly quickly. However, we still have to wait and see if the brothers get the happy ending they deserve._

 _Chapter 12_ Trial and Error _should be out soon. I look forward to seeing you then._


	12. Trial and Error

Trial and Error

 _He was crouching in a dark place. He couldn't see anything except for his own body, weak and naked. He shivered, despite there being no cold._

 _As he raised his head to look in front of him, to gain an understanding into what had happened, a figure appeared, hazy at first. Could it be…Mum? Al? He tried to call out for their names, but he couldn't speak, as though his jaw was frozen and trapped in its position. The distorted image in front of him became clearer as the figure stepped forward. Nerves fluttered like butterflies throughout his essence, since in this place he couldn't see his body – did he have one here?_

 _And where was 'here'?_

 _He wondered where he was, but there was no way that he could tell. He didn't know_ why _he was here, which was perhaps the most important question of them all._

 _However, suddenly he felt a bone-chilling voice whisper to him in an omnidirectional manner; he couldn't discern where it came from. It sounded mangled and evil, like the sound of a creature that should have never walked the earth. It made him fearful, but he somehow quashed his nerves, awaiting further direction from the voice. There was no doubt that he was confused, although if he panicked, he would end up missing further instruction from the voice, and then he would remain ignorant. It was a damn cycle ignited and finishing with fear._

 _And he didn't like that._

 _Therefore, he waited and listened. Moments later it sounded again, a long and mournful cry into the night and the dark spaces that filled between. The longer the voice sounded on for, the greater clarity its tone gained; he could discern words from the lament._

 _"_ _You didn't do anything to save me," the voice pleaded. It was neither angry nor upset, but lonely._

 _Shivers were sent along his spine – his body was responding to him again – and his limbs shivered like the sharp points of throwing stars. Pins and needles. As he gradually regained sensation in his limbs, the voice spoke again, and this time it gained direction. Behind him._

 _Edward turned his head rapidly to stare at a hazy figure emerging from a lighter part of the void, like mountaintops becoming visible through the clouds, a valley visible through the mist. He swore under his breath and felt his pulse begin to rise. What was damn happening?_

 _Each time the voice sounded, it became more and more melancholic._

 _"_ _I'm sad, so sad," the owner of the voice wandered over to him. The man was short, with glasses drooping down the bridge of his nose. He wore military uniform, the image of a young, naïve solider who had yet to witness the cruel reality of this world. His face wore a different expression however: he had the expression of a highly-decorated war veteran. One who was no stranger to fear and blood and agony._

 _Images flashed through Edward's mind, and he remembered the white and glass and gunshots…he screamed, and remembering seeing pure fear reflecting from those dark eyes. Kain Fuery, a phantom, now walked his living nightmares._

 _"_ _I'm sorry, so sorry," Edward repeated in the same tone as Fuery. He was so sorry; he could never be again. He had sworn to protect the lives of those around him, and as a result, he had adopted the motive not to kill. And now he had killed someone, and not only a stranger, but a dear friend whom who had trusted with his life. Edward hadn't shared all of his secrets with the young sergeant, and Fuery hadn't pried; they had established this bond based on their ability to share what they wanted and when they wanted._

 _Edward nearly smiled as he thought wistfully about the present he had given to Fuery that one time – it had been a gadget of course. There would have been nothing else that the alchemist would have thought to give to the technician. Fuery valued little trinkets highly; he would have treasured any gift that he was given that was one forged with kindness. However, it was the technical wonders of this world that especially sparked his interest, and Edward knew he wasn't the only one in the team who wanted to watch Fuery's face light up with inquisitiveness._

 _It was the same expression he loved to see on Al's face when he was younger, and one of the expressions Edward had imagined Al wearing once he had got his original body back. Both people deserved infinite happiness._

 _And looked what he had given them._

 _He had deafened his brother and killed his friend…_

 _The ghost of Fuery approached Ed. He looked strained, the expression of one in deep pain. He was completely grey. His stature, his body, his whole_ aura _was shrouded by grey, as if it composed part of his being, such as the molecules that had held his body together. Edward shivered, looking down at his own body, which was a ghostly white in pallor, but still he was alive._

 _That word remained etched in his brain like a firework. He was alive. However, Fuery wasn't. Everything had an opposite, if one called for it. In a chemical reaction, the same principle applied; there were the reactants and then there were the product. As there was life, there was death. It was the cycle of the world that he had accepted when he had become an alchemist. One is All, All is One. However, to come face to face with it again….after Mum…_

 _It was heart-breaking._

 _In his life, Edward had two wishes: to keep them safe and make sure that he didn't make them cry. He wanted to see them all smile. And even though life wasn't all sunshine which was how he had perceived it as a child in Resembool._

 _When he wanted to bring his mother back, he had thought the world could return to a state of perfection, back to the days when he had been young and free. The biggest worry he had was whether Al would beat him in a race up the hill to his house. There was no house; there was no life._

 _He had moved away from that. As a promise of self-assurance, he had told himself that he was moving forward, ever forward. But he had tried to move away from his grief, and now it was coming back to haunt him. Fuery didn't deserve to be forgotten._

 _He couldn't ever forget but every time he dreamed he forgot for a moment. He just wanted a peaceful night's sleep, but it would always end in him remembering. It always ended him in having a nightmare. No more. He couldn't…_

 _"_ _You killed me," Fuery said, taking gentle steps towards the older Elric brother._

 _"_ _I know, and it's my fault. I'm so sorry," Edward crouched even lower in a subordinating manner. He was trying to lower himself even further, imagining he would just turn into the dirt that he was._

 _"_ _Not just yours…Alphonse didn't do anything either when I was with him," Fuery replied, and he took the glasses down from the bridge of his nose, and Edward wined when he saw that the glasses were cracked. They then burst into shards of glass a moment later. And then Edward saw the blood begin to dribble from the Sergeant's forehead, little drops at first, which quickly turned into a steady stream of red liquid._

 _"_ _You both killed me," that was another voice. He turned around, and there was the decaying corpse of his "mother". Except this wasn't the body that the Elric brothers had transmuted, but the body of their actually dead mother, grotty bones and all. Edward tried not to heave, but the tears were already tearing up. He tried to crawl backwards, but the ground was beginning to swallow him up._

 _"_ _Die. Die. Die," that was their mantra that was repeating in his head. He could hear their voices reverberate everywhere. He tried to hold onto the strings of sanity that were the only things that kept him from falling a thousand depths into the Hell he deserved to rot in. He was lower than a corpse._

 _What was making him bloody hold on? Protecting his brother. Protecting all of them._

 _The two wishes rang clearly in his head once again:_

 _Keep them safe._

 _Don't make them cry._

 _He could hear his gentle brother's voice screech as his newly-found body and mind were broken inside out._

 _He could see the tears streaming down Fuery's face as he was killed._

 _He couldn't fulfil those promises. He had tried…he had tried so damn hard…_

Keep fighting. Please. _Some part of his head screamed to him. Begged him to fight for a little bit longer._

 _Edward didn't want his brother to see him. He couldn't protect Al. Al didn't deserve him…he didn't deserve this_ it _that he had become._

 _He could feel himself let go…and he fell, as if consumed by the gaping maw of a giant serpent._

* * *

Roy found Maes in one of the guest bedrooms of the Armstrong mansion, sitting on the bedside of a dreaming Alphonse. The boy seemed at peace and oblivious to the anxiety and pain that was surrounding him in the world. Roy watched for several moments as Maes muttered quietly to the boy; he never stopped talking, and Roy knew exactly what Hughes was doing: telling Alphonse the truth. Even if he was unconscious, the words would be spoken. It was the least that he owed them. Maes made it his principle not to lie to Elicia; he wanted to protect her from the monstrosities (burn Kimblee _scream_ ) that life in the military had made protocol. However, if she asked a question, he would answer her fully. That trust was what made the two very close as father and daughter. And whenever Elicia was struck down by the flu, he would remain by her bedside all night even if he had an early shift the next day; he didn't think about doing what he did, but he just did it. His actions spoke for him louder than words. It was just that Maes could do the whole emotion thing, while Roy was oblivious to it as a lamb was for slaughter.

He shook the morbid image from his head and instead focused on the steady breaths of Alphonse. He was resting in a king size bed, his shaggy cropped hair hiding one of his eyes. Overall, he looked terrible, but at peace. This was the end of his torture. And then Roy widened his gaze to look at the items that were standing in his peripheral vision. There was a lampshade and bedside table at either side of Alphonse's bed, a grand mahogany wardrobe, and large sweeping windows that faced the pastures and rising sun, where Al would wake up to seeing the dawn and sheep and new life. Roy hoped that while the boys recovered, this would be enough. He didn't want to move them again; that would cause certain trauma upon the two of them. Whenever they were moved in their prison, they would have known that torture was imminent.

He didn't want them to have to worry about that now.

But Alphonse didn't look like he was being plagued by nightmares, which was a good thing. However…he thought to Edward in the room opposite (this house had functioned as a military hospital and as a result the bedrooms were arranged like a hospital ward was: regular and consistent). The boy had not woken up from when he had collapsed. He had only lost a tiny fraction of blood, but in his condition, any amount was dangerous. Roy hadn't understood how critical Edward's condition had been until they had arrived at the Armstrong mansion.

Apparently, the skills and talents that had been passed down the Armstrong line for millennia…generations… (Roy didn't want to admit that he never listened to the exact wording of the Major) was not lacking. There were even members of the great family that practiced in the medicinal field, and that the members of the family in Turinene were the family doctors. _How prestigious,_ Roy allowed the quick thought.

Roy remembered that the head of this house was a woman, the matriarch, some aunt of Alex's…but he couldn't discern the correct name out of all the ones that Alex had proclaimed over the years. There were too many that he had to keep track of. However, he had been surprised when he had been greeted by a young woman. She had dark blonde hair, the colour of honey, and she smelt of lavender. She wore scrubs (very unlike what he was expecting from an Armstrong, but then he thought of Madame Christmas and how untypical she was for a _Mustang)_ and she had looked at his face for a second, before removing Edward from his grasp, and she had hurried ahead into her mansion through a set of double doors and had not looked back. Numerous members of staff to the Armstrong lady had followed her quickly.

A maid had rushed up to her and apologised for her lady's absence, but she had proceeded to surgery with the young Elric. A certain Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes had arrived an hour prior and warned the mistress' daughter of the situation. According to the maid, Alphonse had been sleeping peacefully, and while he had wounds that needed attending to, they were not urgent; she would rather let him get some peaceful sleep to help prepare his body for surgery. However, Edward was in a critical condition. The infection had spread to his blood system, and he was suffering from septicaemia, also known as sepsis. Blood poisoning. Considering the gigantic size of his infection site, and the number of open wounds that the older Elric brother had dotted across his body like stars to the sky, it was no surprise. Roy was glad they had not delayed any further; had they brought Edward to Viola Cadence Armstrong's care a day later, she might not have been able to save him.

She was a surgeon that specialised in immunology and foreign infections; if anybody could save him, Roy knew that she would be the person. At the times when his subordinates needed him the most, and he was the most useless. What could he have done except ensure everyone else was alright and that their tracks had not been followed (Hawkeye had tended to that). He had paced the halls of the building, taking in nothing, until a weary Viola Armstrong had emerged from her theatre and proclaimed that the boy would live after three blood transfusions. And he was to be kept in a light comatose state for the next day in order to allow his body to heal, so that when Edward regained consciousness, he would not be in sharp pain. He hoped that the boy would be able to recover; physically the shrimp would be able to make a full recovery, Roy was sure of that. The boy had survived having two limbs ripped from his body and through the horrific automail procedures which left grown men rolling on the floor in agony. He had completed his recovery three times faster than was the recommended recovery period for one reason: the alchemist was reckless. Too damn flamboyant.

It was the mental side that Roy was fearful about; the boy had been tortured and broken in ways he had not thought possible. He had not believed anything to be worse than Ishval, although the world was always full of surprises, and not all of those were nice ones. A cruel place indeed.

"The small one will live, Mr Flame Alchemist, Sir," Viola had exclaimed mockingly; Roy knew he was dealing with a more of the Olivier Armstrong sort than she was the Major and the rest of his family. Viola wanted no nonsense, and she demanded respect and absolute loyalty from her team. Roy wanted the same but his means of achieving this were a little less…violent.

She boasted the prominent Armstrong curl with dark marine eyes and wore surgeon scrubs which were coloured a deep forest green. She didn't look…extravagant. And she had a tired but hopeful expression etched onto her face. While she had the status of one who would expect absolute authority, she hoped for a better outcome. Major General Armstrong always predicted the worst; Roy would have to find out about this doctor. At least he had figured something out from the day of chaos: Viola Cadence Armstrong was not a person of many words either.

"Thank you, ma'am, and for your hospitality as well," Roy nodded his head politely and surveyed the building with his gaze. The Armstrong woman inclined her head once in response, before removing her rubber gloves, and proceeded to her right where the ground floor guest bedrooms were. Roy learnt quickly that the building retained its old structure, which was that of a military hospital. Havoc, who was too nervous to smoke and flirt, was jittering by his side. On a good day, Roy would have been tempted to stand on his foot to regain the Second Lieutenant's attention. However, the day had been heavy and grave. He inched closer to stand next to his subordinate.

Maes would have been with Alphonse, but he had been reluctant to see his best friend in fear that he would be leaving Edward on his own. What a pathetic thought that was. The runt could take care of himself, and he was unconscious, and he was under the care of a brilliant surgeon and her team. Even if he didn't trust these people, Havoc would be there to supervise all that was occurring. Edward had travelled throughout Amestris on his own without telling anyone apart from his brother.

It was Roy who needed to reassess his thoughts. But for now, he let idle daydreams float around in his mind; he was too weary to think about much else. He shuddered and released a sigh of relief, which came out as more of a gasp, since they had rescued the Elrics.

The Elric brothers were safe and in one place, which was a surprise. Suddenly, Roy remembered his internal system he had: a mental tracking system of his team. It was so he could easily keep tabs on their status and positions when in the field of combat, or out on a mission, especially one of this importance. He usually remained trapped behind his desk in his office, glum and glued to his paperwork, but because he was on this mission, and so much had already occurred in the past six weeks, he hadn't been keeping his tabs religiously. He had decided that he would make amends to that:

Havoc – main entrance, Armstrong mansion. Shaken, but safe.

Hughes – ground hospital ward, Armstrong mansion. Safe.

Alphonse – ground hospital ward, Armstrong mansion. Unconscious, but safe.

Fullmetal – theatre, Armstrong mansion. Unconscious, broken, but hopefully safe.

Hawkeye – scouting for me, outskirts of Turinene. Inconspicuous, so safe.

Fuery -

He had forgotten about Fuery. He had questioned Havoc on the matter, but Havoc proclaimed he had not seen Fuery since he had been taken down the tunnels. He had been seriously injured; he wouldn't have been able to fend for himself…

What kind of superior officer was he moping in his self-pity when outside others needed his help?

He had run to search for Maes; Edward would be cared for. However, as he started sprinting, Roy nearly repulsed visibly at the dissonance the two words _Edward_ and _care_ sounded together. However, the alchemist wasn't a god, he was a human, and people often forgot that. It was a fact that needed to be taken into account, especially a situation as this one…

…Standing back with Maes, Roy averted his gaze from the sleeping Alphonse and the window facing the sunrise, and he probed the man with his query.

"Hughes, do you know where the Sergeant is?" Hughes jumped from his reverie, but automatically relaxed when he recognised who was standing behind him; Hughes had done this too many times to Roy.

"No, Roy, why, where is he?" Maes started looking over his shoulder, as if he expected Fuery to appear.

"I don't know, dammit!" Roy paced and was about to slap his fist against the window, but refrained at the last moment when he remembered to be considerate for Al.

And next door, Roy could hear the groaning of Edward. Even though he had been kept under the influence of anaesthetic, these didn't prevent him from having nightmares. He must have been having a particularly vicious one; Roy felt himself shrink as he became more helpless…

"Go then, you bastard, don't wait around and _sulk,"_ Maes scorned and he started pushing Roy from the bedroom.

"What about-,"

Maes looked at him earnestly, and with a flicker of understanding in his green-flecked eyes, he said, "I'll look after them."

Roy didn't turn around to reply: he had to find Fuery. He would not return without all of his team intact, and perhaps he could finally live up to his role of a Colonel.

Keep damn moving…

* * *

What a shame that mission had been a failure…

It had wasted her precious time. And she did not have the years to spend on fruitless endeavours as the rest of her siblings did.

Lust the Lascivious One filed her deadly spears, lifting them in the dim lighting, grinning and allowing them to retract to resume the length of regular nails. She had been waiting for her escort for the past three hours, and the Homunculus was greatly fatigued with staring at the bland human décor – so blasé and spiritless, even if it was the house belonging to the escort. He knew of her limited patience; he should hasten or she would be more displeased than she was now.

The fireplace was roaring, despite it being the height of summer. The heat was similar to a tickling sensation on her bare skin, but she didn't feel it acutely as humans did. It was an ugly ashen colour made from year old brick. And the room was damp, reeking of mildew; it would not be long before it started dripping from the walls, which were coloured a dull cream with patches of white wallpaper, covering up the circles of alchemic experiments the user had been dabbling into.

He was not particularly discrete, which could lead itself to becoming an…issue. Without a moment's hesitation, she lazily allowed her claws to extend, like a sword from its sheath. She barely lifted her wrists, and with her centuries of practice, cut elegant lines through the strips of wallpaper and hence destroyed the evidence of alchemic experiments. Having the MPs find these potential marks of evidence would be a pain. Wrath and Pride would have been able to resolve the situation, but if she could avoid the nuisance, then Lust would take that option.

The man lived in cramped accommodation. It was a two-storey building, although there were only two bedrooms, one bathroom and a combined living space and kitchen, with a table crammed between the two. That was where she was sitting now. However, Lust grinned when she saw the oddly clean carpet scattered on the ground; it lacked the layer of dust other objects in the house possessed. It was a carpet that was clearly moved often. She didn't have to slice a part of the carpet away with her claws to know that a secret basement rested below, leading to an underground alchemic research laboratory. Every alchemist she an acquaintance to seemed to have one these days, as if they were the latest fashion trend.

Humans. Mortal creatures with high ambitions and miserably short lifespans.

She would never understand Envy's obsession with them. Her sibling would whine and complain from dawn until dusk unless she demanded that he be useful and cease to sulk around. He had wasted weeks mulling over a human that he was not permitted to kill. However, she remained in the mind-set that humans were the lower lifeforms, and hers to control. The Homunculi had been tailored to be the new race of sentient beings in Amestris, while humans would be reduced to ash. She grinned wickedly – that inevitable fate would not be brought about by the Homunculi pulling strings from the shadows (humans were not only mindless pawns, but also puppets waiting to be commanded), but through their own undoing. The wars they constantly fought and the screams of insects dying were like a whispering song to her ears. She tucked her hair behind them, imagining she could that song.

Lust yearned for their reign of the land to be over while she lurked below the ground, watching and waiting for the parasites to rot and eventually die. She sighed wearily – why did she have to have been born to be so impatient?

She did not overtly disguise her impatience; her fingernails were drumming against the table and her feet tapped on the floorboards.

When she finally heard the footsteps of someone approaching up the path to the house, she grinned lavishly, pushing herself out of the uncomfortable chair and decided to perch on the edge of the table. She stared at the ground, looking for insects to squash.

There was a fumble of metal and then a click. Before the stranger could blink, Lust was onto them. She pierced their brain with her spears and they were dead before they had dropped to the ground. In the process, her spears closed the door on its hinges. Her escort had warned her about the cleaner he had hired who was the only other person to have keys to the house, due to her employer's mysterious work schedule. She was paid well, so she kept silent and cleaned the house twice a week, blood and all.

And now she was staring up at Lust with a tired and blank expression. Her body hadn't even had the time to register shock or fear or horror, such conceited human emotions. She shook the various fluids that had collected on her hands, and pulled out a brush from her back pocket, which she routinely to clean underneath the nails. She had an image to preserve.

"Finally, you've come," she muttered when the door opened again. A second figure had emerged, not walking down his garden path however. If one looked closely at his vegetable patch in the front garden, they would realize that he never picked the food sources, and the patch itself never seemed to…change. It served as the entrance to the system of underground networks that spread from Liore, a worthless desert town to Turinene, another broken-down human nest. This man both operated the tunnels and kept their secret. Nobody from the outside world knew of their existence, except for his experiments and the few he trusted to be guards.

He kept the secrets of the Homunculi (the scant few that he knew) and in exchange they had left him to writhe in his conceited jealousy and loneliness.

Einar Kimblee. He was the younger brother to Solf J. Kimblee, locked up in Central City. That one had made quite a name for himself, and he revelled in his destruction, the ability to eradicate all that were weaker than the alchemist. Einar however yearned to use alchemy, but he couldn't dabble into the science not matter how hard he tried. That was his greatest wish and intention, despite the power he could harness if only he showed great enough interest beyond his own self-inflated ego. The man was ironically a doctor, systematic and apathetic.

But he wasn't interested in interfering, so he was the perfect resource for Lust to use.

He stumbled into the living room and the corpse of his cleaner for however many years didn't faze him. He hunched over his sink and without bothering to fetch a glass of water, he drank freely form the tap and coughed and spluttered. Kimblee wiped his hand over his mouth and dropped to the ground, his grip on the glass releasing; it shattered into a thousand pieces next to him. Some slit his skin, and blood dribbled out.

Lust raised an eyebrow warily – this strange, abnormal behaviour was very out of character for the methodical man she had met on several occasions. And then he started laughing manically. His chest heaved and his eyes were laced with tears. He then used his blood to etch a circle into the ground; Lust believed he was fantasizing about different realities again, one where he could perform alchemy. However, when she heard the crackle of a transmutation occurring and felt the air pressure shifting, she had stopped preening her beautiful, deadly spears. She watched the man rise from the earth, holding a fully fixed glass in his hands. He had performed alchemy in several seconds, when he had attempted to learn the art for over ten years. The effort was neither strained nor forced, but surprisingly natural.

It was a feat she had not expected humankind to be able to perform; however, once again a human had proved her wrong. She rarely made a misjudgement in character. Humans were all the same, although this one was different as he was intriguing.

"I am impressed," she said simply, for that was all the praise the man was going to receive from her. Lust watched as Kimblee lifted himself off the ground, as nimble as a cat, and she reckoned his alchemic power stored was immense; most budding alchemists struggled to perform simple transmutations for years after they first began to dabble into the practice. Einar was tireless however.

He shook off the dirt from his trousers and hurried to a wardrobe, pulling out numerous instruments which included chalk, bullets, and ammunition. Lust nodded approvingly.

"I am prepared for phase III," Einar said confidently, and with the items laden in hand, disguised in his jacket, he proceeded out of the front door, completely ignoring the cleaning lady who was dead on the floor in his house. Lust would have to call Envy in to disguise as the lady so that the neighbours did not suspect about her passing. The cleaner decided to retire young and proceeded to move to another country. It was good for the Homunculus that simple people believed simple stories that she fabricated in her head.

Lust was itching to move down into the basement. She would finally be getting her prize. The one that Father had been interested in a long while, ever since Wrath mentioned it to her. While the Fullmetal Alchemist was by no doubts a talented alchemist, it did not take very much to break him; injure his brother and that would be the end of the boy. However, there was another who possessed a moral drive that Lust needed among her connections to utilise in the future. The Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang.

"Is he contained?" she asked quietly as she slipped out of the house and into the secret, hatched door, remembering to close the door quickly and firmly so as to disguise the trace of body. The gloom did not affect her; she could see perfectly well in the dark as she could in the light. Gluttony struggled – his dominant senses were smell and taste, which was no surprise. It was the way her sibling had been created. But Lust had been born to be extravagant, and she had to have the ability to blend into the shadows if she was to get what she desired, and that didn't have to be anything sexual. She thirsted for knowledge, of answers to secrets, of keys to padlocks. And she would do whatever it took to get there, even if she had to watch and wait like a hawk.

"No. As you suggested, I secluded one of his team members. I silenced him and that broke the Fullmetal Alchemist for good," Einar chuckled.

"Excellent. Those boys will not interfere," Lust trilled happily, examining the dull damp tunnels that she was strutting along.

"They suffered from some side effects I instilled…"

"They can still perform alchemy?" Lust asked sharply, her eyes narrowing momentarily to slits, her body tensing up, making her garments itch against her skin.

"One blinded and one deafened," Einar recited as though from a textbook, and Lust visibly relaxed. She would not have to kill Einar immediately as she had assumed. She needed those boys alive and as alchemists if Father was to be satisfied.

"Did you work alone?" Lust joked, knowing that would have been impossible. But her question was answered as she walked further along the path. She saw a pile of bodies stacked up of guards, pristinely laid out in front of her – there were approximately two dozen. These had been the men that Kimblee had enlisted to the safeguarding of his facility below the town of Turinene. Here he had been performing on test subjects with a strange contraption harnessing alchemic voltage that could be amplified and transferred into another person with the correct methodology. Lust did not know the in-depth mechanisms, but she liked to understand the principle. The more ignorant she was, the more likely she could be toyed with, and that was one of her greatest hates in the world. The system operated without the Philosopher's Stone, which was a considerably impressive feat in itself. Nevertheless, both systems relied upon human lives, one for energy, and the other for alchemic energy transference.

"They were convicts and low-class criminals. Nobody will miss them," Einar walked past the bodies without pausing or stopping for a sideways glance. He quickened his pace, but she took her time; humans were running out of time, but she would always have all the time in the world.

She smiled.

* * *

 _Sorry for the wait - I've had no WiFi for a while...gosh that was strange. Anyway, I'm glad to be back! Here's an extra long chapter to apologise for the wait :)_

 _All three POVs occur at about the same time, just for some extra info. And yes, juicy plot, at long last..._


	13. Doubt

Doubt

Riza had not expected to see her superior officer racing up to meet her on the horizon. However, as soon as she saw his breathless face and tired expression, Riza knew that this wasn't a part of some absurd scheme Roy Mustang always ended up being at the heart of. She had situated herself on higher ground; otherwise she would have felt exposed, naked. In Turinene, the older town was home to the famous cobblestone market and fountain, although in the days of past Turinene had been the town with the ultimate defences. Around the town was a large city wall, the colour of red and cream, which had been fortified and added to over the years; the different types of stone were worn, like the shades of colour of sedimentary rock found at an exposed cliff face at the beach. Towering and imposing to outsiders, but protective to those cocooned inside by the city walls. Four towers guarded the city wall, each situated at one of the points of a compass, and the towers were named after their positon. She was standing at North Tower. If she had been sited at East Tower, she feared that their whereabouts would have been given away.

She had been staring at the town, where nothing out of the ordinary had been occurring. By this time, shops were beginning to close as merchants bid goodnight to their trade. Shopkeepers were also leaving for their homes to turn in for the night. A small part of Riza was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to tuck herself up in warm cotton sheets with Hayate asleep in his bed just behind her bedroom door. She would close her eyes, and for a quiet moment, she would reflect and let her mind cast a projection of the images of the people she had killed. The list became longer and longer.

However, she would never forget; she had no choice in the matter. It was her duty as the killer, as the one who landed the final blow to remember and honour the lives she had taken. They could have been kings or slaves, but she would remember each face. It was ironic how status lost all of its value when one was dead. After all, one life equated to one life in Death's eyes.

Hawkeye had developed this list after what Solf J. Kimblee had said: _"Look straight at the people you kill. Don't take your eyes off them for a second. And don't ever forget them because I promise that they won't forget you."_

Kimblee was at the forefront of her mind. This was the Kimblee who was a menace (both of them were), but the celebrated Crimson Alchemist was the one that was dominating her central thoughts. As Riza watched one of the merchants close around to wipe off the sweat from his brow, she saw a manic smile displaying euphoric joy. Kimblee. When one of the children running from his friend lifted his arms in mock surrender, she saw two transmutation circles, one on each hand, which with a single clap had the power to shatter the foundations of a mountain. Kimblee. She shook her head.

He was locked up in Central Prison. He wasn't here. Usually it was the ghosts of her victims that haunted her deservedly after what she had done to them. This time she was being haunted by someone who was still living; she couldn't shrug this feeling off as a simple nightmare. He was a mass murderer, and he was alive. Kimblee. She knew she was entering a panic attack like she had in the showers, but she was too resolute to stop or pause. She was never going to have a break until she knew that they had not been followed. And some part of her felt that something was terribly, terribly wrong. The feeling had not abated since rescuing the Elric brothers.

Her strong legs shook violently as involuntary spasms shot through them like needles. She gritted her teeth and focused her energy on scouting the place below, rifle in hand, waiting and waiting…and then she had been shocked by the sounds of footsteps ascending the stairs behind her. Her head was giddy. Without a moment's hesitation she turned around and fired, but her legs started to goddamn shake again and she missed her target by at least an inch (a large parameter for her) and now there would be no time for her to reload and make a counter attack because she would already be dead-

"Lieutenant!" a voice cried. The Colonel was standing at the entrance to the highest floor of North Tower, breathing heavily, and smoke was rising into his face. A bullet hole was gaping to the side of his left shoulder leaving an indentation in the brick wall, and the man had barely noticed the move. Hawkeye silenced her swirling fury of anxiety; her superior officer needed her, and she had to performing at her optimum to keep the sometimes useless Flame Alchemist safe. She didn't have the luxury of worrying if she wanted to keep him safe; like the Fullmetal Alchemist, Colonel Mustang was a magnet for trouble.

"Sir," she saluted, and awaited for further instruction. Roy took a moment to compose himself but locked behind his eyes was a layer of underlying fear which Riza knew she would not immediately be able to abate. She would be able to help him when she had something to do.

"I must find Fuery," the Colonel said, and trembling he moved back down the way he came, but by the time he came to the third stair, he groaned. The sinking feeling in Riza widened; how had she been this clueless? She had been worrying too much about a man locked up in prison to realize that one of her team members was missing. The Elric brothers were safe, but in exchange Fuery had been taken too. She willed her legs to move faster and she increased her pace rapidly, although she was delayed by a slow-moving Colonel.

He took a stair at the time, but by the time he got to the tenth stair, he was sweating profusely and swore under his breath: "damn useless fool…"

Riza then noticed that the Colonel's leg was splayed at an odd angle. She was not a doctor, but she had experience enough of wounds and medical care from the battlegrounds she had fought on to know that her Colonel had a fractured leg. She would not have been able to tell what the fracture was and where in the bone it was damaged, but she was aware of the medicinal basics. Like her superior officer, she disliked being useless, and if she possessed a rudimentary knowledge in some scientific fields, then she would be able to help…a little. Once, she would have been able to recite the types of fracture and bones in the body, but overtime she had forgotten as she had had more and more to worry about. However, she couldn't spare the time to dwell on hopelessness; there was just too much that needed to be done.

"Kimblee's doing, Sir?" Riza asked as she dropped to the ninth stair, one behind where the Colonel had paused, taking in deep and heavy breaths. The man nodded once and huffed, before hauling himself to his feet, but his face winced in pain as his eyes also squinted, like a child having a nightmare. If he closed his eyes, he wouldn't be able to see the monsters lurking in front of him.

For a second, Riza thought that the man's effort of standing up would have been wasted, but she wouldn't have dedicated her life to following a pitiful soldier's cause. For Roy Mustang growled and stood up, raising his arm in a motion that indicated: proceed and follow me. Whether it was a verbal command or not, her superior officer had given her an order, and Riza Hawkeye was set to see it through despite whatever happened next.

She followed Mustang in silence, her sense of discretion lost; they had more important priorities to focus on. However, she didn't want to be like a shark amid a sea of fish; where she could remain discrete and unseen, she would opt for that. She would hint and point out routes of the town she knew would avoid the main market square, and the Colonel would take that route. He trusted her judgement, a bond that had been forged over many years.

While her attention remained focused on the pathways they wandered, a part of her mind floated back to the rest of the team. She knew that Mustang was experiencing the same thing in his head as well. The Elric brothers had been rescued, and they were alive. However, Edward's broken expression had broken her stoic heart a little too; this was not how it should have been. The children should not be the ones fighting the wars. Riza had been fighting since adulthood in order to protect the younger generation from harm, but fate could be a bastard when it came to appeasing the wishes of the people. They had been harmed more than Riza or the others had been, physically and psychologically. Edward had nearly _died_ and that was something she had not thought possible. She was a realist, and knew that death was inevitable to every human being, but she had always assumed that Edward would find his body as he had Alphonse's, and the boys would travel or settle down or have children. They had the world in their palms and could do as they pleased. That was what Riza envisioned when the boys stepped foot out of the office to pursue another lead. She looked into the immediate future; she would rather envision the paradise that she was working towards. When Roy became Fuhrer, he had to keep his promises of protecting the younger generation, or unfortunately, Riza would have to shoot him.

The future she saw for Fuery was him establishing his own radio network. However, he was never one for the centre stage, and therefore, he would open a small shop in the city selling various gadgets. Or he would travel to various historic sites of interest with Falman, who he was very close to. At celebrations and gatherings, he would always make an appearance because he loved the people he was close to. His path was not to remain in the military forever. He had a gentle heart and inquisitive mind, and like the Elric brothers, he deserved _more_ from the world. But nothing was ever given for free. Equivalent Exchange was once again the interfering force.

Turinene town members paid little attention to them. As it was a town on the main trading route, it was often a place for military soldiers to refresh and recuperate before re-joining the road. Therefore, the sight of two soldiers wandering through the streets as evening approached did not cause the two of them too many problems. However Riza ensured that Roy disguised his insignia that was emblazoned on his marine uniform. A Lieutenant wandering the streets near nightfall might have raised an eyebrow or two, but a Colonel would have been a larger deal. Mustang was an officer, and he had to be careful. Many people had seen his face today, and as he was a wanted military target to many outlaws, the more discrete she could be the better for them all.

However, the Colonel was now proving to be as reckless as his short, blond subordinate; they were heading straight back to the entrance of the tunnels. The tunnels had been deserted once Roy had left them the last time, and the reason for that was still eluding her. As a military strategist, she could understand that evacuating the tunnel would protect it from a storm of soldiers coming to invade the premises. But the other prison cells had also been recently abandoned, leaving only Edward and Alphonse together in the facility. What had been the purpose behind this move? Riza could speculate, but it was likely she would never find out the other Kimblee's intentions; it would never be an easy feat to reason with a madman. She wondered if he _wanted_ the Elric brothers to be found. But why would he then decide to do that?

Roy was the best in the team for plotting and scheming with his ally, Hughes. Riza could understand snippets of his reasoning, and she was often the one in the team to best guise what was going on. Getting into Roy Mustang's head was one thing, but trying to understand the enigma you found was confounding and something completely different. He liked to be well-known, but he also could remain mysterious. He could be charming, but he could be deadly. Most humans were confusing creatures, but the Flame Alchemist was a contradiction.

However, Hawkeye was not by Roy's side just because of her ability to shoot and because she had pledged her life into his service for the promise… _hope_ for a better world.

She would hope. The monsters would never go away, but she could hope that children could be spared from being butchered like pigs and men massacred by their sons. There had to be some who protected the weak; if they were called heroes or warriors, she didn't care. She would do her part.

Roy was evidently limping by this point. She held her rifle more tightly, gripping at the weapon so hardly that it began to hurt her fingers.

They had reached the tunnels, but she had already journeyed through a labyrinth in her mind. It was a deep and dark place, like a giant piece of fabric composed of intricate designs of needlework. There were twists and turns and dead ends. It was a complicated place and feeling she had in her heart.

Her priority was finding Fuery and protecting the other members of the team.

However, the entrance was blocked. It was hard to see in the darkened streets from where the Sun's light was no longer shining through, blocked by the bricks. She stopped and watched as the Colonel ignited a small flame that trembled at his fingertips. He surveyed the space, and there was no longer a booby trap. What remained was a flattened hump of land. She couldn't see anything else.

"Transmutation marks," Roy muttered, and then he cursed loudly, "an alchemist blocked the tunnels, and a powerful one at that."

"There must be other entrances…" Riza said through gritted teeth.

Roy swore again. He was in pain and it was getting dark. He had to get his leg seen to before they could pursue with the search for Fuery. However as the commanding officer, he had many ties and people needing him for different reasons. The Elric brothers needed him. Fuery needed him. His team in Central needed him. And those members in Turinene.

It was a burden she couldn't understand.

"I'm so useless, Hawkeye," Roy stated glumly but not defeated. Never defeated.

"One step at a time, Sir."

And they did.

* * *

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It sounded like the dripping of water from the ceiling of his prison cell which would fill up until he was swimming and he would end up drowning without an escape. That was the last thing he remembered: falling. Corpses had sentenced him to a living hell, and that was the promise he had to live with for the rest of his eternity. It was only fair since that he was treated like he was dirt after he had killed so many people. God didn't have the time for murderers like him.

And now he would remain in this prison cell – his home – below the streets of Turinene forever. It was the least that he deserved.

 _-Where has that fighting spirit gone, shrimp?-_

 _…_

 _-Oh, you no longer care if you're called short? How pathetic this is…but interesting…I thought it would take more to break you. Funny what a few images and negative stimulation in the brain can do. It can wreck an individual.-_

 _But I'm nobody…leave me alone._

 _-Your name is Edward Elric is it not? Older brother, alchemist, Fullmetal, so many impressive titles, I do not know where to start…-_

 _You do. There is no start._

 _-But is there an end, my friend?-_

 _I will never be your friend. Even you are above me._

 _-Will there ever be an end for you? And can it be a happy ending?-_

 _I don't deserve that._

 _-Remember them well. More sorrow will come future in your life. How will you protect the others if you do not believe in your own abilities?-_

 _Go away, bastard._

 _-You wish to escape, do you? Good luck.-_

Edward had had enough. He was sick to the stomach of the shadows and menaces that spoke to him in his head, but his Shadow was the worst by far. When he was dreaming, he would be plagued and haunted by the corpses and ghosts of those he had killed, although during his waking hours his head was his worst enemy. No amount of reason or logic could dispel the ice-like voice that spoke to him, discordant and malignant. He wanted for them to go away. He wanted to be left alone in peace. If he was going to die, didn't he have the right to do so in a dignified manner?

Drip. Drip. Drip.

That was the sound of the running water once again. The noise was continuous and steady, and reminded him that he was awake. It was hard to tell after being trapped in the dark for so long. He would continue to live down here in his piss-filled prison cell, but at least there was one thing that could distract him. Luckily Alphonse had been taken away. He didn't deserve the rotting shell of a person he was?

Saying that Edward Elric was the older, stronger brother who protected his family and friends was utter bullshit.

He had become used to the mental anguish as he had to the physical pain. Soon he would learn to live with his impending isolation too. However, even now he could hear the damn voices and he wished that they would shut up. He didn't want to have these retched hallucinations. He just needed to wait for this damn infection to take him and then it would be over, at least until the vicious cycle of life repeated itself once again.

 _-I will be your friend, Edward.-_

 _Never…_

 _-I am you, and as the mind is a person's greatest asset, or as you once boasted, can it also become their greatest enemy. Watch out.-_

They warred in this childish, petty way for hours while Edward was conscious, and today, his Shadow was in a particularly feisty mood. Edward was how he usually was: apathetic and very, very tired. The nightmares drained so much energy out of him that when he awakened to the world of the living, his first thought was of curling off to sleep and entering the world of dreams. The familiar drip drip drip kept sounding, but over the top, Edward could hear a vaguely familiar voice as well as a voice he did not know too well.

A deep, friendly familiar voice spoke: "the anaesthetic must be wearing off soon. His movements have been a lot more violent over the past hour. You've got to do something!" The voice sounded frustrated towards the end, and partially desperate. The only voice that was relatively friendly in the basement belonged to Kimblee, so that must have been who was speaking now.

The stranger's voice sounded oddly melodic, and was higher pitched, but less warm than that of the first speaker: "it would not be best to interfere anymore with his IV. If he is pulled too rapidly out of his state of unconsciousness, it will be harder for him to regain lucidity-"

"Shit! Come on, Armstrong. We're grateful for your hospitality and protection, but I made a promise to a friend, alright? I've got to get in there and see him…"

The owner of the second voice sighed heavily, "very well. No changes to his anaesthesia though."

A gasp of relief: "thank you, Miss Armstrong."

The door opened. Oh God someone was coming for him. They were going to take him back to the room of enlightenment and they would crush him to pieces as Kimblee fired an alchemic voltage through his veins, which was more potent than any poison. He hated hated _hated_ it. The thought of alchemy was the one thing that repulsed him; it was also the one thought that could keep him from being the emotionless husk that he had become.

Raw fear was paramount in his head. Parts of him screamed to flee. But with his infection and broken, mangled body escape was not an option. Furthermore, they knew the tunnels and he didn't. He would just be dragged back and the cycle would start again. It appeared that everything in this universe could be described by circles and theorems just like goddamn alchemy, a closed system.

Or he could try and cower so much that he vanished into the wall. He could become a shadow himself; he was short and skinny enough. Some twisted part of his imagination spurred horrific images of his body contorting in more ways, as though he was a shapeshifter, so that he fit in a box that he could close. He would rather have that than by subject to alchemic voltage. Anything but that.

Footsteps. Drip. Drip. Drip.

His brain was heavy, and he found he couldn't move his limbs. He could only think and Ed thought that his heart would explode with the effort and strain that it was under. However, it had already survived through so much. That was a funny thought: he had _survived._ But saying that he had thrived was a different concept entirely. Insects survived.

He winced and pushed himself back against the mildew wall and hoped that the damp would consume him and damn take him far away from this place. He waited…but the pressure he felt on his back was strange. It wasn't hard or soaked with moisture.

It was soft.

In his mind's eye he journeyed into a memory from the past. This memory was very recent however: a sleepy Alphonse had been taking part in rehabilitation all day for his atrophied state. He had walked without using his crutches for the first time, which had merited some form of reward. Edward's answer to his conundrum had been food. Food was the best way to celebrate, so long as the meal did not contain "milk" on its menu. Al had tucked into his three course dinner happily, and when they had stumbled, bloated and content, to their lodgings, Al had collapsed onto the first bed he could find (which was actually the sofa). He had exclaimed that it was "so soft" and started snoring before he could have finished his sentence. Determined Al had looked so gentle and delicate while he slept. Ed had rolled his eyes and stuffed a pillow for Al – the lazy ass. But he had mussed with his brother's hair all the same.

The memory was disgusting. What right did he possess to recall these memories? They were of happier times…God Al deserved so much more…

Edward then truly woke up. He realized why the material felt different, and didn't smell of rotting flesh or infection. The place where he was smelt clean, and sterile, as though he was in a hospital (another one of the places he detested to be the most) but the scent of _homeliness_ surrounded him next. It was the comforting aroma of perfumes and candles burning until there was no wax left; it was the cotton essence of laundry; the scent of fresh air billowing through the windows, and the smell of cut grass. Something in Edward stirred for a second, like a small beacon of hope and the fear for one small, miniscule moment subsided into a faint murmur. For a second he thought that everything would be alright and he could forget about the arduous weeks he had endured. _Survived._

It was the most beautiful time he could remember.

However, the sound of the footsteps and a strained voice trying to be reassuring near his face caught him tightly in the throat. His neck muscles constricted so he could no longer breathe in that sweet sweet air. And in that second the voices returned full-force, hitting him in the stomach with its malignant stampede of crushing thoughts:

 _-You thought it was over, that easily?-_

 _-You thought you could wake up back home in Resembool and pretend that this was all a bad dream?-_

 _-Why would you waste your energy on_ hoping _? Surely you should be thinking of a way to escape.-_

 _-Pathetic weak little boy.-_

 _-Out of anyone I had to be trapped with, why did it have to be you?-_

 _-Pointless…-_

"Shut up!" Edward screamed, lashing out with his arm to the side. He could feel his fist collide with something warm and he screamed again and clutched his arm close to his chest. No Kimblee was not going to take him or use him again he wouldn't allow it too many times. Just for _once no more_ -

"Ed, come on, buddy. Stay with me," the soothing masculine voice spoke. Most of the time it must have been quite jokey and amusing, due to the higher pitch the voice possessed. Edward focused on each note and syllable, enunciating the words spoken selectively and carefully. This didn't sound like Kimblee.

"You've got to stop struggling, or you'll hurt yourself, okay Ed? You need to be careful, and take it slowly. Breathe slowly…" the voice murmured, and Edward found that the grip of his left arm against the bedsheet held closely to his chest loosened slightly. A bedsheet? He couldn't remember the last time he had slept on a bed, let alone the last time he had slept fitfully on a bed. He could remember sleeping on trains and Al and in sewers and in basements dripping with piss-

"Go away!" Edward yelled, frothing at the mouth. He was prepared to bite his enemy if necessary. There was no way that Kimblee was going to get hold of him again. The only thing that kept him fighting was because of his fear of the alchemic voltage. Because that was _pain._ Hadn't he experienced enough pain already?

"No, I can't do that. I promised another reckless ass I would look after you," the voice chuckled weakly.

The sadness in his voice was something that did not belong to Kimblee. Edward shifted, feeling that he now possessed the ability to move again, and struggled to open his eyes. The dark world was so lonely. It was gigantic too. He didn't know if he was locked in a claustrophobic basement with instruments of torture yet to be implemented surrounding him. Kimblee could be breathing into his face for all he knew.

He could be in a huge room, larger than a void, waiting to swallow him whole, like the dirt and serpents with red eyes from his dreams. The room could be lined with machines each experimenting at extracting his energy using the alchemic voltage for different parts of his body. The room could be enormous enough to give room to spectators watching him suffer for entertainment. Edward knew that if it could escape the confines of his head, his Shadow would be the audience member cheering on Kimblee the loudest.

Dizzying colour surrounded him, overpowering and threatening to make him retch. The world in his vision was like a watercolour painting, with all the colours muddled and confused in a chaotic brand of exotic hues. He didn't know where he was and what was happening. He blinked again, determined to put some order and stability into his field of vision, but his remaining eye teared up even more. Sadly, he closed his eyes.

And the universe became that bit bigger.

"W-who are you?" Edward asked. And he felt awful for asking who this person was. He sounded friendly enough and obviously cared about his wellbeing.

 _-Always be on your guard, remember what would happen when you fell asleep.-_

 _…_

 _-They came back for their 'sunshine'.-_

"It's Maes Hughes, Ed. Lieutenant Colonel. I'm here with Colonel Mustang, First Lieutenant Hawkeye, Second Lieutenant Havoc and Sergeant Fuery," Hughes said. Edward knew Hughes, and recognised his voice, but how could he be sure…how would he be able to know that he could trust the man who was claiming to be someone? He could have been anyone…

"You're safe, Edward," and there was such sincerity in those words that Edward automatically believed him. He remembered Mustang and the promise that he would be safe and he would also be taken home. He wasn't in the basement. He sighed, and buried himself deeper into the covers.

"Can I t-trust you?" Edward tried saying steadily, but his voice quivered like a violin; he was so damn weak.

Hughes didn't hesitate, "when have you not been able to trust me, Ed?"

Edward couldn't answer, and he didn't make a retort either. He stared at where Hughes' voice came from and nodded once. This was true. If this was true, then he had been able to trust Hughes until now. He had no reason to mistrust this man.

 _He welcomed you into his home dammit! And this is how you are repaying your rescuer?_ A voice cried in his mind, the resilient memory of the Fullmetal Alchemist.

 _-Such a weakling. What will you do next, begin to cry?-_

"Your brother is safe as well," Hughes broached and his reaction must have been a surprise when Edward proceeded to hiss and growl at the man like a feral cat. He didn't want to be near Al. And Al was here too?

 _-Doesn't he deserve happiness? Isn't this what you prayed for when you were locked in the dungeon, with voltage being poured through your very soul?-_

He curled his fingers into a fist, "Get him away!"

However, as he bent his arm, he felt it for the first time. A gut wrenching pull and fear in his gut caused butterflies to tumble around in his stomach and his pulse thrummed loudly. It was the only sound he could hear. He bent his arm again. That confirmed it. Needles.

One thing he hated besides alchemy and milk was _needles._

"Where am I?" he spat viciously, and if he opened his cloudy eyes, he would have hurled a death gaze at Hughes.

However, Hughes did not reply. There was a fumbling at the doorway and an angry figure stormed into the bedroom, boots clomping against the hard floor like a horse's hooves clopping over stone. The pressure in the air changed too: it became stuffier and contained, like a brewing storm. However, it was warmer too, and that brought Ed some comfort.

"You are in the lucky care of Doctor Armstrong. You had better not move, or she will kill you," the voice was deep and hypnotic, the type of voice that made one want to listen to it. It was also a voice that Edward despised. Anything that belonged to that bastard Colonel was something he hated. The smallest part of him wanted to sit up and look defiant, but he remained under the protection of the covers…he couldn't reveal too much of his body, just in case this all was a wonderful dream.

He might have been having another hallucination. They were common for him. He never wanted to count his luck; he didn't know what else fate had planned in store for him.

"Why are you here?" Edward said, his tone lacking emotion he had been numb too since the alchemic voltage had leaked it out of his heart.

"To keep you alive, brat. You're useful to me," Roy snorted, but the move to make the conversation jovial was completely strained. Living with a madman for six weeks it seemed, who was an emotional rollercoaster, had attuned Edward's intuitiveness considerably. One thing he had gained from his experience. _Equivalent Exchange,_ he thought mockingly.

But there was something he wasn't telling the blond. Edward could tell. There was planned deceit in his voice. Was it the way the Colonel sighed heavily after snorting? Was it the way he had paused between each sentence? He knew he was over-analysing everything, but this is what it took to stay alive.

 _-I still do not understand why you want to keep on living.-_

 _-Even the ghosts of your past want you to die, so why don't you?-_

"Tell me," Edward demanded. His tone would have instigated threat, but he lacked the momentum to do that.

"I cannot find Fuery. The expanse of the tunnels is far greater than I thought it was originally; it spans further than Turinene," Mustang groaned in visible pain.

"Stop this dammit, Roy!" Maes whispered towards the Colonel. His was a voice to the right but then the door opened or he thought it did and another voice shouted out "that's enough" and that was right it was enough Edward couldn't adjust to this _noise_ it was painful and he wanted it to stop-

"Enough!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs, sitting up, and then he collapsed. It felt like his chest had been clamped with staples, crawling across his tissues and organs, ripping each one up into tiny shreds. He swallowed bile rising in his throat. He was being hurt because Kimblee knew this induced his alchemic voltage even more it was coming and he had to be ready-

"Edward," the boy realized the world had gone silent. He could only hear someone calling out his name, "you were suffering from advanced sepsis when you were extracted from the tunnels. You have multiple broken bones and fractures as well as muscular atrophy. The extent of your internal damage is yet to be determined. Nevertheless, you will live."

Finally. He was being told. He had information pouring into this brain. He wasn't a lab rat trapped unknowingly in the dark. He was curious and he had wanted answers. Some part of him was so goddamn _happy_ that he was being answered and treated like a human being. His one simple request had been answered.

But he was dirt. He couldn't forget. Kimblee would not allow him to forget.

"Please…go…" he gasped. He was grateful that he had been saved from the tunnels, he was. But the claustrophobia reminded him when Kimblee's gang would enter the room after he had emerged from his unconscious sleep. He hadn't slept soundly since. For him there were too many people. His muscles were tense and his jaw tight, as if it had been clamped shut. And he was in terrible pain. The painkillers had made him drowsy, but had barely numbed the pain. It spread throughout him like a dull fire. But its presence was distracting from the image of Kimblee's men seeking out their 'sunshine'-

"Please," Ed choked, and there was rapid shuffling as everyone vacated the room at his evident desperation. Why was he so damn useless? A few warm tears glided gently down his face, burning the cuts and scars that lined the bridge of his nose, the crook of his chin and shadows beneath his eyes.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

They had visuals of the mansion. That was where the Elric brothers were staying.

He held a steady breath. They were not the targets. Another member of the household was.

His fingers trembled in excitement and anticipation. This was it.

He had blocked the only known entrance to the tunnels. He had prepared the rooms for his experiments to occur.

The alchemic sparks tingled in his palms. Static like electricity. They were to approach the mansion, but they were waiting for the final member of their infiltration team before the mission began. Homunculi were far more fun than criminals to work with.

Einar Kimblee smiled serenely beneath the light of the moon.

Phase III could finally begin...

* * *

 _Another update?! I know, quite surprising. But it's all thanks to you readers for motivating me, so thank you for the support! I hope you enjoyed this update. The plot really begins to pick up from here. And sorry for the cliffhanger there._

 _Also, it was Doctor Viola Cadence Armstrong who told Edward exactly what had happened to him. She's blunt, but brilliant to write._


	14. Shadow's Domain

Shadow's Domain

The Major had been patient for long enough.

He was due to have contact from Colonel Mustang over 48 hours ago and still he had heard nothing from the team in Turinene. He yearned for more than anything that he had accompanied them on the trip. From experience, he knew that Viola Cadence could be temperamental if she had large quantities of work to complete, and was not an advocate for the fine gatherings that the Armstrong family arranged thrice a year (and what a wonderfully sophisticated event it always was). She was much like his oldest sister, Olivier; they were immersed in their work that it became all they were.

Although this was appearing to be the case for the Major. He had been a sentimental soul from when he was a young boy and the prominent curl on his head had been cut a centimetre too short. His sister had called this a "petty and ridiculous concern", however to a young Alex Louis Armstrong, it had been a matter of upmost importance. He could understand the logical thought of his sister now though. His body quivered and no amount of consolidating thoughts could shake the nerves away, like troublesome pests.

What was equally as alarming were the whispers he had been hearing around Central Command were. The higher ups were doing this…someone had been murdered in their own garden…

Or the most recent rumour he had heard: the Central State Prison was heavily understaffed. There was no explanation as to why and nobody from the military were being ordered to tend to the building. They had been told little to nothing.

And this made Alex quiver once again. After one bad thing happened, a situation could quickly escalate like an avalanche, until one was suffocating in adversity. The boys…the radio…Turinene. Something wasn't right here.

And the Major was beginning to ponder as to whether the rumours were a freakish occurrence to what happened in Turinene, or that something was deeper at work here.

There was only one way to find out…

* * *

All was quiet. The moon was bright, and the untouched glass of whisky glistened in the moonlight. However, the coffee mug that rested next to it had been drained a long time ago. Even though Roy Mustang yearned for nothing less than to drink his sorrows away – it had been a long day – and his leg was in ballistic amounts of pain. He was standing guard outside in the corridor, at the junction that split the Elric brother's bedrooms up. The morphine shot he had had had numbed the pain, but he had refused a stronger dose in the case that it made him drowsy; that could not happen.

He sifted his fingers through his hair and sighed wearily. He had to stay alert. Roy stared up towards the gigantic white moon, wondering how one could find solace in a ball of frozen rock floating in space, while the Sun was a mass of helium and hydrogen. That was the way he had been made, a scientist, but sometimes he wished he didn't see the world so _literally_ , as he couldn't be granted solace from the celestial bodies that reigned the sky, day and night.

They could not give him answers; he had to answer the mysteries of their powers for himself. It was his duty as an alchemist to learn all he could about the world to help make it a better place. However, there were also the people to think about. For Roy they had come first, and they would always be first on his agenda. He was the Flame Alchemist, notorious State Alchemist and murderer, a heartless killing machine who thought this world was beautiful and tried his damned hardest every moment to make it a better place. A smirk slipped past his guard – he even tolerated the paperwork (although he knew he tolerated it also because Hawkeye had hidden firearms inches from his face while he was crouched over his desk for eight consecutive hours mindlessly signing documents.)

Roy had just taken a seat, but his body was trembling with the effects of the day. He buried his face into his lap and imagined the waxy white petals of the daffodils, grown completely out of season that had been sent along with Fullmetal's mangled automail arm. The petals had been preserved so perfectly. Dew had been dripping from its silken-like furls, and pollen blew like dust in the sunlight when he had opened the package. It had been a beautiful yet harrowing sight. And it was burnt into his mind at that moment.

The white daffodils had become shrivelled and sapped of the life it contained. They had been cut from their life source and as a result they had started to wilt, decay. It was the process of life. Birth and death. Hope and suffer. As an alchemist, he knew how interconnected the processes in the world were. Nothing could stop that cycle (how damn useless was he) but he could make a difference. He could stop children being enlisted into the military just so they could grab resources that could lead them closer to a legend and then the world would snatch away that hope and shit on their effort and then they would begin all over again and succeed in part but after all they had given that is the least that they had deserved-

 _-And then they were blinded, deafened and fucked.-_

They had become fearful of being touched or looked at because they couldn't see back-

 _-Because they had been used and abused like whipped, beaten animals locked in a prison for over a month. Imagine living through a nightmare day in day out.-_

Those boys had lived locked in a dungeon capturing their souls and sucking their hopes and dreams until they had become hopeless and grey in a void. It was all entire fault. If only he had been more punctual to work and heeded the alarm bells ringing in his mind the day when Edward had not shown up to give his report. Or the fact that he had heard of no sightings of the Elric brothers (they kept themselves well-known and this was not only due to their standout appearances. The older one in particular had the habit of making himself noticed despite being small enough to fit in the gap between a stitch from his ignition gloves). He had ignored the signs because he was fatigued and hectic – he had been too bloody focused on working his way to the damn top (and he squinted his eyes - why was the moon so goddamn _bright_ tonight). He should have realized how much they had needed him sooner.

And the same issue was being repeated with Fuery.

He shook his head, trying to quash the swimming thoughts that were racing in his head faster than his heart could pump the damn oxygen to his brain. Roy had been doing his damn hardest not to break down after seeing Ed and Al in the states that they had been. However, he had already released the floodgates of his overwhelming emotions and demons-

 _-Don't forget we are here watching and waiting.-_

 _Fuck off._

 _-As you wish. But you cannot control us. We always win, and you know that best of all, don't you.-_

His team must have seen how crippled he was inside. While Fullmetal may have pushed around two stumps, Roy knew for a fact that he had been the more broken one and now he scorned himself for ever thinking that because seeing Edward had been him looking at what _breaking point_ really was and what a selfish bastard he had been oh God Fullmetal had been right to call him arrogant and pompous.

 _-You little worthless, useless piece of shit. Where were you? Where the_ fuck _were you?-_

 _I tried. I looked. I-_

 _-The excuses become more pitiful. Bow the knee and apologise, Roy Mustang. This is amusing – you think you can become the Fuhrer of an entire nation when you failed to protect two boys.-_

…

… "Roy! Come on buddy, snap out of this," Roy blinked and there in front of him Maes Hughes slipped a hot piping cup into his hands. He inhaled the bittersweet aroma of black coffee. Goddamn he needed that now. His hands however were trembling so violently that he couldn't hold onto them properly. What the Hell had been wrong with him? At times, it felt like his world was falling apart on purpose, as if God wanted him to suffer. That was the way he would become Fuhrer – he had to lose everything he had in order to gain the ascension and leadership he had been striving towards since Ishval.

How had he become so frail?

In truth, he would still be buried in deep shit if it had not been for his team. And Hughes. Brilliant, loyal, dedicated hyperactive-family-man Maes Hughes, who was staring concerned at him now. The glint of the man's glasses was made visibly brighter by that white gleaming moon and the dazzle from the light reflected directly into Roy's eyes and he felt his body reel against his will-

Was this what it was like to tumble into Hell? That was where he had supposedly treaded according to the public eye on State Alchemists. Some press coverage supported the fact that he was possessed by the Devil, and that the flames he conjured were licked by his own heinous home – the pits of Hell. He could picture the barren wasteland of Ishval, taste the agony of burning flesh and hear the crunch of rotting baby bones beneath his feet-

"Roy!" Hughes repeated, and Roy realized that he had let his mind slip into a trance again. It had happened frequently after Ishval, although Roy _had_ gotten better. He had never completely recovered (nobody was expected to recover from the acts of genocide he committed with a pair of gloves and a mind that knew too _damn much_ ) , but he had learnt to manage with the flashbacks and the torturous memories. But they were being thrown into his face once again, seeing the young boys suffer so much.

He was so weak.

 _-You know that.-_

 _I've had enough of you. Go away._

 _-You'll never forget those glazed eyes.-_

 _Don't remind me. I know I know I_ know.

 _-The eyes of the dead. But also the eyes of the living who became hollow inside.-_

 _Don't…_

 _-The eyes of torture victims, and you did nothing.-_

 _Should have been faster…should have…_

 _-You should have cared, Colonel Roy Mustang. You missed sanity's deadline. They're broken.-_

Images flashed in his mind of broken toys, which were actually people, slumped against the wall, huddled close together waiting for the pack of men, laughing wildly like hyenas, to move in and perform their dirty work. The children had been left tainted and scarred in that dark den. They would not be able to forget easily.

"Please, I'm sorry," Roy shuddered, and he let the coffee mug slip from his grasp. Willingly or unwillingly, he was not sure. The scent of the caffeine was making his brain work overtime and the adrenaline was coursing through his veins, making him sit at the edge of his seat as his body fought valiantly against exhaustion. He could not let sleep claim him.

"Roy, what did you do?" Maes asked tentatively, and he reached with his hand to rest it over his oldest friend's. He crouched low so he was eye level with the raven-haired man. Dark eyes lowered, and closed momentarily, but Roy regained full lucidity as he felt his heart physically shatter inside.

"I went and saw Alphonse," Roy shuddered. He had been in there but fifteen minutes ago. The last time he had seen the gaunt Elric brother, he had been sleeping peacefully, although the change in appearance that Roy had seen in the core had shaken him to the bone. He had knelt by the blond's head and uttered his apologies (despite how useless they were to them know considering the shit was over).

"He cried and tossed and turned, Maes," Roy recalled.

 _-That was the biggest lie I have ever heard, Flame.-_

 _He wasn't peaceful…he was suffering…_

 _-He was_ weeping _and you pathetic, sick twisted excuse of a man stood and watched as the boy cried out for his brother. He was in agony. His mind has become so broken it can no longer discern between reality and dream. Is this what you wanted?-_

 _You really do like to talk, bastard._

 _-There is so much to say. Especially about what a failure you are.-_

Roy remembered exactly what Alphonse had said. That was the shit thing about being an alchemist – he noticed and remembered every single fucking detail. Berthold Hawkeye had drilled the importance of scrutiny in his alchemy training from day one, but that also gifted him with a near-perfect memory. Pay attention to the detail. And most importantly of all: don't forget. Don't ever forget.

"Brother, don't come near him, you don't know who you're messing with. Please take me instead, don't don't don't no! Nononono BAD! NOOO!" the boy had screamed. He had screamed high-pitched into the night, but the walls had been thick and likely soundproof (the building had once been a military hospital and most likely designed to allow other patients a peaceful night's rest while others screamed in agony behind those damn closed doors). He had fought them and writhed in his sleep, the horrible, raw truth of torture in its element, trying to protect his brother from their clutches.

Roy knew with a sickening feeling in his gut who the 'them' were and what they were doing.

It was late. That was all he knew as he sighed wearily. It was the time when the shadows, dormant and kept at bay by the Sun came crawling from their dens to haunt their hosts – the minds of men. They talked and whispered and spoke little things. They didn't leave Roy out. Why would they forget about him after the heinous crimes he had committed?

 _-Confess.-_

 _I have!_

 _-That is nothing. You think and say silly words. They are trivial.-_

 _I mean everything I say._

 _-Doesn't always sound like it now does it, murderer...-_

 _I know._

 _-Of course you do. You must never forget. When you feel the weight of your crimes push so hard against your shoulders so that it feels like your brain will explode is the time for you to confess.-_

 _Bugger off you little piece of shit._

 _-Don't underestimate me, us. We will break you until there is nothing left to break. And then you will confess.-_

"Maes, why is the moon so fucking bright?" Roy gasped, feeling its light shine into his soul and equally tear him apart. In Ishval he had always cursed that damn bright Sun, but now it was the moon which was shining fervently through the windows-

Instead of coming out with a jovial comment, Maes swore quietly under his breath, his hands streaming through his hair. His Investigations face appeared. Behind his glasses, Roy could see his eyes moving, taking into account numerous factors that the Colonel's lethargic brain couldn't keep up with right now, like a drunk trying to make sense of their rational sober friend (which _definitely_ did not apply to them).

"Goddammit!" Maes' protest caused Mustang to leap in his bones. He was alert before his best friend had finished speaking.

"Hughes," Roy started.

"Get those boys out of here. That bright light is no moon, dumbass, it's a bloody beacon! A beacon for an attack undercover…" Maes stressed, and he was running across to Edward's room without a moment's notice.

Roy knew what he needed to do. How had he not noticed before? There was no moon out tonight. He cursed as pain lanced up his leg. He bit his lip and let it bleed. Anything to numb the pain. A little.

He pushed his way into Al's bedroom, and by this point the Armstrong mansion was lit up. Alphonse had awoken naturally and blinked owlishly in the Colonel's direction, but the panic on the Colonel's face made his point clear. This was not a time to delay. Al tried to form words on his lips, but Roy shook his head and indicated with a nudge of his elbow that he was going to take him outside. The blond nodded and yawned, clearly not fully awoken yet. Roy whispered an apology under his breath and grabbed hold of the younger Elric brother around the waist and lifted him over his shoulder. Al squealed in protest, muttering incoherent, sleep-addled phrases as though he was dreaming, but the pain he was in was clear in his tone. Roy winced at the patches of bruises that lined the teenager's body. Even if some of the wounds opened, his life would be spared. Hopefully.

Roy hurried out of the bedroom, his movements sluggish. Maes was in front of him holding a thrashing Edward, and Roy would have laughed if not for the circumstance. The Colonel and Lieutenant Colonel looked like damn stunt doubles. For now: keep damn moving.

The mansion, being a former hospital, was thankfully ordered systematically. Once they had exited the former patient ward, they were close enough to see the main entrance glistening in the distance with its lights, like mini lanterns. Roy's pulse was racing and his leg was in damn agony. His whole body was throbbing, but the adrenaline coursed through him and numbed his pain, like a tidal wave out deep at sea.

"C-colonel, w-what's happening?" Al questioned, his voice shaky and confused. The image of the lost and frail child he was.

"Get off me! Leave me alone Kimblee what the fuck do you want to do to me now? Go on…GO ON!" Edward shrieked, his waking fever dreams terrifying Roy. The intensity of the boy's nightmares was all too real.

Gathered in the hall was the Armstrong staff, with Doctor Armstrong at the head delegating tasks to each member of staff. Hawkeye caught Roy's eye (likely from hearing Edward's screaming) and moved swiftly over to his side. Havoc was too busy chewing his nail staring at the ground to notice his superior entering. But even he lifted his head when Edward screamed again:

"NO DON'T YOU DARE, YOU FILTHY EXCUSE OF A HUMAN BEING!" He writhed in agony and Maes was forced to lower the crippled boy to the floor without his automail. Al struggled in Roy's grip and lowered the boy down immediately.

"B-brother, don't worry. I-I'm here," Al whispered sadly, watching his brother sadly, trying to get close enough so they were touching. Edward's body stiffened, as if his fight or flight response was delayed. It was as though he was on a precipice, lurching and waiting to see if he fell or survived.

"You're a sick bastard, Kimblee," Ed's voice had become deathly quiet, and it was the only thing that Roy could hear over the clamour. His muscles tightened and tensed.

And then the elder brother started laughing. He threw back his dishevelled head and started laughing towards the night sky, "this is how sick and twisted you are! You're making me hallucinate and hear the voices of the Bastard Colonel and my brother. I won't fall for it…I won't drop my guard…don't touch me!"

Edward never spoke so much. He was talking to his demons, but the change in tone made it sound like he was talking to himself.

Roy couldn't pay the boys his full attention. Viola Cadence Armstrong had stormed up to the two officers, and she said, "you're trouble. Damn military."

"What's the status?" he asked, wishing he could cut off his leg and be done with its grievous wounds. However, he looked over towards the boy missing half of his appendages, and swallowed the thought (along with his pride).

("Brother, I-I'm here. P-please believe me. Sorrysorrysorry").

"There are at least a dozen individuals out there. Highly trained," Roy's attention moved down to her arm that was badly patched up with a bandage, "they have snipers."

"Hawkeye, update me on numbers and positions," Roy ordered brusquely.

"Yes, Sir," and she was gone with a shuffle of the rifle by her side.

("I don't want you! Take your greed and shove it up your rat's ass, you damn _psychopath._ I won't surrender nononoNO").

The surgeon sighed under her breath and rubbed the sweat from her forehead with a good arm, "what do you suggest, Dog?"

"If we are surrounded, we shouldn't evacuate yet," Roy answered fluidly, his years of training at the academy (and butchering bodies at the front line), coming to the forefront of his mind, "we'll have to draw them out. Use bait."

"And you, Roy Mustang, propose that you be the bait," Maes finished before Roy could complete his tactical thinking. Damn his brain wasn't working. Without his logic, his firm companion, by his side, their chances of surviving through the night was slim. They could make it with pot luck. Hopefully.

"Maes-"

"Don't think it hasn't occurred to me. Two of the best alchemists – prodigies – were taken away. They could have easily kept out of our reach for even longer. It's almost as if they _wanted_ the boys to escape with the lack of security they had in the tunnels."

"Are you saying…this was planned?" Havoc gasped, beginning to shake slightly.

"They want you, Roy Mustang. Flame Alchemist. Youngest Colonel with some damn powerful flame alchemy up his sleeve…or on his glove more precisely," Maes self-corrected, before whining, "I wish I hadn't left that photo album of Elicia and Gracia in the office. I miss seeing their perfect faces…"

"I'll go," Havoc offered.

 _"_ _No"_ three voices replied simultaneously.

("Is that really you, Al? This isn't a bad dream, is it? Everything's…so damn loud…in my head").

(I-I'm here, Brother").

("Only my little brother is as warm as you…Al, that's really you, isn't it? Dammit all!)

("H-here").

("GET AWAY FROM ME! I'll…hurt you").

At that moment, Roy heard the raining of gunshots from above him. They lit up the night sky with an array of colour. He then realized that there were clouds covering the sky, and that the moon had slipped behind the horizon. The glass panels leading outside with the pastures of sheep in their fields shone too brightly due to the beacon that seemed to be moving closer to the mansion, pressing closer and drawing them in as though they were the slaughter animals.

Someone must have followed him back from the tunnels. Why did he have to fuck up so badly? He had wanted to find Fuery and restore some justice to the screaming boys, who could not tell reality apart from the endless weeks of torture in their minds.

Shadows reigned. In the darkness, it was hard to see anything, apart from the blur of the lights, facing away from Turinene.

When suddenly…an explosion shattered through the night.

Roy's mind was whisked back to Ishval. There was one menace who could destroy a civilisation with the clap of his hands and a devilish grin.

The Crimson Alchemist was out there. And Roy's world suddenly became much, much darker.

* * *

 _Oh cliffhanger! I've been wanting to write the Kimblee brothers' confrontation since starting this story, and it is close. Next chapter will involve an anticipated battle scene, which I'm looking forward to update._

 _In answer to me seemingly never-ending hiatus, it's not because I would ever abandon my stories. I've been busy over the last part of summer and then I was quite sick. I'm back to full health now though, and with a clear head, the plot bunnies are working overtime._

 _Thank you for your patience, and I'll see you with the next update. Your support is amazing - it helped me stay motivated into getting better again :)_


	15. Midnight

Midnight

Alphonse didn't understand how he could feel both warm and cold at the same time. He was sharing his limited body heat with his big brother, who kept trying to push him away.

Why did he keep pushing him away?

Didn't he love him anymore?

He tried to say the words that would help him get answers to his questions, but he didn't know if what he was saying had any meaning at all. Was it better to remain silent and stay away from his brother?

Was he needed?

His hands raised themselves protectively to his head, and despite the pain that rocketed through his muscles and bones, he pressed his palms feebly against his skull to block out the chaos of the world around him. He could see people moving, and lights flashing and rifles gleaming and his brother trying to push him away like a repulsing magnet-

It was too much.

He cried and curled himself tightly into a ball, wishing that sleep would come. A tiny fraction of his soul was screaming at him to _do something_ and help and communicate with the Colonel Mustang and the Lieutenant Colonel and their allies. But that was the old Al.

This Al didn't trust anybody except his brother. If someone tried to talk to him or touch him, he would let his muscles loosen (he still trembled) and waited for the contact to be over. He couldn't fight the monsters who took hold of his brother savagely in the fuck den they had made for themselves in the basement.

 _No don't hurt, Brother. Take me. Nononono-_

His eyes glazed over, empty green-gold husks, emptier than the Alphonse who didn't possess a body. He had held onto the promise of hope throughout those long four years; he had something to strive for. However, now, when he was supposed to be protecting those he loved and he let his brother be _raped,_ what was there that he could do?

He was an ignorant, silly, bad bad _bad_ boy.

Was someone touching him?

He had just realized that he could feel the cold, steel-like grip of a hand pressing on his shoulder. He flinched and waited for the hand to move down down down and he wanted to scream but no matter how much noise he made he didn't know if anything was coming out. It was like seeing the world through a panel of thick dirty glass; he could not be sure what was real, and what was an illusion.

Just how it was like to be blind.

 _Brother._

 _"_ _NO DON'T HURT HIM. DON'T HURT ME!"_ Alphonse screamed and when the pressure on his shoulder vanished instantly, his hands began to flail around wildly. He didn't know where the mob of dirty men had gone. They would be back in a moment. They could bring the alchemic voltage operator with them too. And then he would be gone gone gone for good-

Suddenly, the pressure returned, gently cupping his cheeks and they were a well for his tears to pool into. Al's eyes were lowered. He knew that as soon as he raised his head, and looked into the eyes of those men that he would start bawling. He had tried to be strong for so long but he had been all alone in the dark. He had been alone in the dark with nobody to talk to but a madman and then he had lost his hearing and he would only have the voices in his head for company. They would never leave him. They ensured that his world was never silent for too long.

 _-They've come back for you, boy.-_

 _-They want_ you. _-_

 _-That's strange, who wants a worthless sack of bones, like you?-_

The voices chattered amongst themselves and despite the fact that the world was silent around him, a world of bustling people and bright lights (and he didn't know _what was happening_ ), his brain felt like it was going to explode from the abundant noise that swelled and reverberated in his skull. His hands returned to their positions on the side of his head, and he felt his knuckles crack as he prepared to punch at his head then the voices would go away away away-

 _-We're never going away.-_

 _-Those men are never going away.-_

 _-Your brother_ loathes _you.-_

"Please s-s-stop," the younger Elric whimpered, and although he could not hear his voice, he knew that a pathetic sound must have released from his lips. The hands that were holding his cheeks lifted his head gently and Al told himself that this was it and he had to be prepared and he had to be brave. It would be over soon and he could sleep and there would be peace and quiet. Just like the calm summer evenings he had spent with Mama and Brother and Winry in Resembool…

The breath had just left his body when he finally made eye contact with the green-eyed man in front of him. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes was tearing up (he had never seen him cry before) and he made no effort to shield away the tears and pretend that they didn't exist because they did and there was nothing wrong with being weak or flawed and it was _okay_ for him to weak now. He wanted to get better. He really did…

"O-okay?" he asked, his voice quivering.

Al read the slowly-enunciated words carefully. Lucidity was flooding back through his brain and it was one of the most elevating experiences he could imagine. After the gloomy and cold weeks trapped in the dark, witnessing human emotion (Maes was not the madman or mob men Al knew it – hold on hold on hold on, he was here at his cloud refuge and Hughes would not leave him behind) was _liberating._

Al mustered the last ounces of his strength to push those demons into the back of head and secured the lock on the chest in which they dwelled and focused on reading the words that kept tumbling from Maes Hughes.

"Alphonse, you are more than okay. Please don't forget that. It's going to be hard. It's hard now, isn't it?" Maes rubbed the back of his head then, massaging the tense, knotted muscles, "you're at a safe location. This is the Armstrong Estate."

(Had Al been told this already? Did he know where he was? Time yawned in front of him and seemed to stretch back millennia; he couldn't remember.)

"I need you to stay here and look after Ed. Can you do that?"

Al nodded his head hesitantly.

"W-what's happening?" he was afraid of the answer he would receive. He was always afraid of the unknown. A part of him morbidly laughed at the changes that had come about his personality. That was what torture did to you, like a dance that bent the body in weird shapes but never ended.

"The Crimson Alchemist is staking an ambush against us. He is likely with the others who…kept you away from us," Al didn't have to hear Maes' tone to know that he was looking for the right word to sugar-coat what he was telling him. There were many words the Lieutenant Colonel could have used: captured, tortured, tormented, _broke._ And God the list was endless.

"This is my fault. Sorry," Al had attempted to snuffle and hold back the tears, but if he had learnt anything from the past six weeks, it was that what someone wanted and what they received were very different things.

"It's not your fault. Never. Please, help me," Hughes asked him. It was clear from the deep rings that surrounded his usually-bright eyes that caused Al to stiffen. If there was an alchemist out there, then he had to help. Especially if it was the Crimson Alchemist. Solf J. Kimblee was meant to be secured in Central City Prison. Al shook his head – he would not trust his judgement. His trust in others wavered at best, but it had diminished within his mind and soul. And only time would heal that (if it would heal at all).

"L-let me help. B-brother," Al moaned and his injuries suddenly wrapped him tightly in a deathly embrace. His heart started pounding faster as he was clutched by the phantom force that would never let him go-

It vanished. Al quivered, but refused to shut his eyes. Hughes was here and so was Brother so he had to try his best to abate his fear and keep moving forward. It never became easier to snap his mind out of its stupor. Perhaps…one day…

Or was that too much for him to ask for?

The face of Lieutenant Hawkeye appeared by Hughes' side. She had been the one to embrace him. Al was surprised that somebody could love the dirty teddy bear that he was – a toy that had been shut away and left to be eaten by time and dust and mites. Now that he had remerged from that closet and he had thought nobody would muster the strength to try and love him again.

But these were his allies. His friends. His _family._ That would never change (he hoped) and he allowed his heart to latch onto that hope that threatened to vanish in a blink of his bruised eyes.

She spoke some words to him and the Lieutenant Colonel started to speak too but their words were all jumbled. He couldn't work out what they were saying to him. His mind was so tired and it had been a long day. Nausea and fatigue were catching up with him faster than he expected.

He simply shook his head, "c-can't right now. But I'll t-try."

Two sets of hands pressed firmly against him after he had spoken and he wearily closed his eyes, wishing for sleep to send him into that peaceful realm where the nightmares and demons could not plague his soul. For a second, he thought that it was Brother and Mama squeezing him tightly. He was safe and warm. That was a lovely dream.

But the fire and ash that rained upon from outside. There would be no time for that.

He raised himself shakily to his feet, his weak body complaining wildly at the movements, his weak muscles pathetic and limp. However, he managed to stand on his own two feet, and the world awaited him.

* * *

Viola Cadence Armstrong donned her deep-green trench coat and stood surveying the lands that belonged to the estate. To her.

Michael, her right-hand, was with her, his sea-green eyes nearly opaque in the fathomless darkness. There was no end and no beginning to its shadowy touch. The dim lights in Turinene were a world away. This was their battle. And this was a battle she wouldn't lose. Victory and military ability had been passed down the Armstrong line for generations, and while she was not directly a member of the military, she was still an Armstrong and had a strong sense of oblique pride about her. It governed the way she walked (with long, confident strides) and the way she presented herself (head held high) and she would not change who she was.

She wouldn't even change the fact that she was related to Alex – irritating as he could be. She thought he would have learnt some discretion by having four sisters, including the likes of Olivier.

However, Michael came from a common dwelling. He was an orphan with no relatives to speak of, except a great-aunt who lived in a hospice down in South City. She was in no fit condition to look after the young Michael. So he had learnt how to work for his keep and left the orphanage as soon as he turned sixteen. He had aptitude and skill in the medicinal field, and had acquired a scholarship for a medical school in which Viola had been attending for two years already. She, the child from the rich and extravagant background, quickly befriended Michael, the child with no background at all.

She trusted him with her life and with lives (which held true on a daily basis as they saved the lives of their patients that walked through these halls). Few exchanges and words were shared between them – in theatre, the silence helped her to concentrate. As long as she knew that he would stay by her side and she would stay by his, then that was all that she needed.

Their attention was currently being occupied by the flashing beacon shining in front of them at the other end of the grounds. From a distance or due to the result of poor observation, it could be mistaken for a giant, bright moon.

"The staff are not trained for specialist combat," Michael commented, his hands gripping tightly to the bannister. His face was oddly pale, which Viola would have found amusing if this had been in a different context. He rarely expressed emotions and the two would often display serious demeanours even if they were off-duty and relaxing. It was the hard-worn expression of a surgeon, she was sure of that.

"They are the intimidation, not the weaponry," Viola mused, inspecting her trench coat for any signs of dust. She spotted a honeysuckle-coloured hair, the colour of a golden Labrador, and flicked it away without a second thought. Dogs were for young families with children. Her children were her scalpel and stitches. She didn't possess enough care in her for a 'second thought'.

"What have you planned?" Michael asked earnestly, adjusting his position so he was facing her. Despite him looking down at her, there was no doubt who was the superior figure here. _She_ was the one who lead, and he was her right-hand. If he could not accept that, he would have left a long time ago, as many of her other colleagues had. But there was a difference with Michael Lyel. He remained. He was her constant.

Instead of answering directly, Viola Cadence Armstrong began to descend the sweeping stairs that would lead her directly to Alex's allies, her staff and the golden-haired boys that she had been able to save but would never be able to save. Despite her cold-hearted appearance, she felt the grief for their loss deeply in her chest. If death was a bitch, then torture was something far more twisted. "I am an Armstrong, Michael. Trust me."

* * *

Edward was cold. His body was shivering violently and the twisting in his gut ached his soul. He _knew_ the aching in his gut – the continuous butterflies that whirled in a pit of anxiety – was caused by muscular contraction. He _knew_ the pain was due to his body secreting adrenaline causing his abdominal blood vessels to constrict to deliver blood to organs enacting the fight or flight response. He _knew_ his abdominal cells were starving because he was feeling perpetually on edge.

The scientist in him screamed to listen to the logic of the black and white answer. To him, science was the answer to any problem that confronted him. However, science had failed him. Alchemy had failed him. It hadn't been able to save Fuery. It hadn't been able to save Al.

It hadn't been able to save him.

Ed was bitterly cold. Instinctively, he was aware that it was late at night. He had learnt to tell when the night had come: it gradually became colder and colder. And then suddenly, the world was ice. Ed feared that his blood vessels would freeze over (that's not logical Edward that _isn't the scientific explanation_ ). And he could finally end this madness. He could enter a mindless oblivion with no noise. No Shadow. No Kimblee.

The voices around him chattered loudly (so loudly) around him; feeding information through his ears:

"Did you know that Dr Armstrong has a whole troop of private soldiers at her disposal?" one chattered happily.

(How could they be happy?)

"Apparently, they arrived less than half an hour after she summoned them!"

"That's ridiculous. How is that possible?"

"She's Viola Cadence. With her, anything is possible."

Ed was fucking cold but he smiled. Sometimes people had called him a monster that could perform miracles. But once, a long time ago, he had made the impossible possible and for one moment that actually made him smile genuinely.

His attention was so focused on catching the sounds from the furthest corners of the massive room that he had not been listening to his brother's melodic voice. He was not in touching distance of Al – he was dirty and an abomination and didn't deserve to touch the blood of angels – but as he leaned his back against the glass surface (it was light and felt like it could break under the slightest pressure). But Edward wasn't sure if it was glass. A scientist needed to be confidently cautious.

Confidence had been snapped out of him like electricity. It had shocked him and then he had been left numb numb numb. And this was a rare occasion where he wasn't catatonic. The lucid intervals lasted for minutes or hours, and even though he as in the most pain and couldn't imagine how he could draw in another breath through his infection-riddled chest, they had quickly become the best moments of his waking day. He knew where he was and what was happening. He knew…didn't he?

"c-can't right now. But I'll t-try," that was Al.

He heard indistinct croons and gentle words coming in response from Hughes as though he was talking to Elicia. He was looking after Al where he had not been.

If the Edward Elric from a year ago had seen himself now, being protected and looked after like a child, he would have scoffed at the notion. But now, Ed wasn't quite sure what to believe.

* * *

Roy Mustang was one to sit at his office for days on end being bullied by his team and Hawkeye to complete his paperwork. Even if he tried to escape for a quick break to the bathroom, Havoc threatened to start smoking and the Colonel would sigh and return to the office. He always returned to the mound of paperwork, rain or shine, in sickness and in health, like he was married to the damn thing. The team ensured that he suffered through the hours and days and weeks. As the days passed, the seasons gradually shifted outside of the window (his only chance for escape from the dreary office) before his eyes. The world was always changing and even though he was an alchemist, one responsible for the change of matter around him, this was beyond his control. It was as if everything was beyond his control these days. He really was useless.

And the more days he spent locked in the office, the more he forgot about who he _was._ He was the Flame Alchemist and he could burn a village alight with a few snaps of his fingers. All he needed to destroy lives was ignition cloth and a circle. That was all. Sometimes he forgot about the power that he could wield with a snap of his fingers. When he was in the office, the alchemist became the soldier; the Flame Alchemist, dog of the military, became Colonel Roy Mustang, whose suffering was limited to the cramps he experienced in his fingers after signing his name a hundred fucking times on identical looking documents.

But as Roy stepped out of the Armstrong mansion on that warm night, his military coat whipping in the breeze that also sent his hair flying into his eyes, he remembered who he was. He had been trained by that goddamn academy to _shoot on sight._ He could burn someone's brains out if they were standing in front of his face. He could incinerate the gastrointestinal tract and circle his victims with searing fire.

It was the same, whether he was in the office or at the front line of war. He couldn't save anyone. He was useless and that wasn't exclusive to the rain.

Why did they rely on him? Why did they look to him as their superior officer? Why was he called a 'hero' when he had killed so many?

He stared out at the makeshift battlefield. It was a strange thought that a field that could be full of sheep overlooking the town could become a battlefield. That was what he had thought when he had first set foot on the sands of Ishval. How could this desert wasteland cause such upheaval for Amestris and its military?

Because of its culture. Because of its _people._ That was what it was after all. The people and their actions that determined if someone followed them to the death or not. And he apparently had the particular traits required to be followed.

He was stubborn, if anything. Hopelessly, uselessly stubborn.

That was who he was. It was part of the answer to the self-identity crisis he had currently stacking up inside of his head. It could be so loud up there, even if all he could hear in the world was the wind singing and the jagged breaths he sucked into and out of lungs every few seconds.

As a habit, his hand slipped reassuringly into his pockets. The spare pair of ignition gloves was there. He rubbed them tentatively, marvelling that a small piece of clothing could be his most powerful element. Oh in Ishval had they been surprised when a man had fallen houses with a snap of his fingers, with neither gun nor grenade in sight…

He took a step forward and his leg cramped, like a spring coiling. He could be so foolish. Hawkeye did have to babysit him as she noted when she scolded him.

But it was too late for regrets. Roy couldn't see anything in the shrouding darkness and he resisted the temptation to light a small flame with his gloves. The enemy wouldn't benefit from a preliminary peek at his abilities which could put them at an advantage during a battle. That was one of the first rules that had been drilled into him at the academy: the battle rages on.

And most of the time, it was when the world was silent that the hardest battles were fought. Doubt and self-conflict were powerful motivators.

The birds had ceased their songs and were likely tucked up warm in their nests. If he had chosen a different path, would he be curled up in a bed now?

 _Too late for regrets. Too late for doubts._

He had reached the summit of the battlefield and his heart rate had reached its summit too. _Dah dun dah dun dahdundundundundundun-_

Roy heard footsteps. They were close; he could hear the _crunch_ of shoes coming into contact with damp twigs. The ground squealed beneath them. He couldn't see anything.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the mighty Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang? It has been a long time, has it not, my comrade!"

Roy froze. He recognised that voice. It sounded more like a hiss than a whisper. And he _knew_ the owner of that voice. So much time had passed since he had heard that voice. The Colonel felt as though he was dreaming.

"Still as obnoxious as you were in the day, Flame?" Solf J. Kimblee said. The beacon suddenly flashed in Roy's direction, blinding him. The silhouette of the Crimson Alchemist stood as a shadow in stark comparison to the illuminated world around them. Kimblee licked his lips, teeth gleaming and he lifted his hands together, the tattoos that Mustang remembered so clearly burning his retinas. Before he could react, Kimblee clapped.

The earth rumbled as Kimblee slapped his hands to the ground. Grit and dust danced into the air as the transmutation worked its magic. Who needed explosives in the battlefield when an alchemist could generate them for you?

Solf J. Kimblee. The Crimson Alchemist.

Solf J. Kimblee. The Desert Devil.

Roy's eyes narrowed to avoid the debris landing in his eyes. His reflexes caused him to move swiftly to the side and _snap._ He sent a ring of flame around him in a circle. It was a defensive and offensive mechanism he used when vision was poor. As soon as he could determine where the enemy had positioned themselves, he would quickly transition to the offensive and end the fight as soon as he could.

"That's an old trick, Mustang!" Kimblee's voice was omnidirectional. It sounded like an echo. Roy turned his head from side to side but he couldn't damn pinpoint the location.

"Damn you, Crimson!" Roy muttered through gritted teeth but he was caught unawares by the clearing of the dust clouds. The beacon's light blazed and shone towards him, straight through the fire, piercing the flames like a spear and its tip landed in his eyes. Roy's eyes involuntarily closed for an instant-

"Up here," Kimblee greeted Roy as the Colonel rubbed his sore eyes. The Crimson Alchemist had created a ledge for himself out of stone that was several metres in height. The flames didn't even reach Kimblee's feet. The madman laughed and threw something into the air. His right hand made contact with the item and there was another bright flash.

Roy's body went into shock as numbing water drenched through his body. Damn Kimblee had brought a water bottle and caused the water molecules to disperse, rendering both his attacks and protective ring of flames useless.

Furious, Roy tugged off the gloves with a pull of his teeth. He lowered himself to the ground as though he was surrendering. With his free hand he quickly traced a transmutation circle into the dirt but Kimblee had reached his side before he could finish the cir-

 _Kick._ Kimblee's foot landed squarely at its target: Roy's stomach. Winded, the Flame Alchemist niftily stuck out a foot that caused Kimblee to stumble, giving him precious seconds to stand up. His body protested but Roy had grown used to ignoring its complaints (he had much practice from ignoring Hughes fanatically wittering on about his daughter and wife…).

In that moment, Roy could dimly hear the chiming of a clock. Even though Turinene was a mini trek from the Armstrong residence, the prized clock tower could be heard distinctly. Roy didn't have to count the number of chimes to know what the time was. Intuitively, he knew it was the start of a new day. The adrenaline pouring through his veins…the anticipation…he couldn't help but feel invigorated. He couldn't ignore the determination flooding through his body, nourishing his aching soul with diminished hope. A new day was a new attempt. A new start. A way to move forward.

The time for new ideas…and as though his head had been buried underwater, he breathed deeply and returned from his momentary pause. His eyes glittered (evilly as Fullmetal would exclaim) as his brain compiled its plan.

Roy and Kimblee were positioned on a hill halfway between either camp. The explosives that Kimblee created did not reach near the mansion, which provided Roy with a meagre peace of mind. However, the intentions of the Crimson Alchemist were made clear as Kimblee stood up, coughed lightly into the sleeve of his white suit, and proceeded to take several steps towards the mansion.

Kimblee needed to get _there._ And Roy was the first (and likely the last) line of defence. However, Roy was not concerned. He pulled out a spare ignition glove from his pocket, and smirking, he created a small spark in the palm of his fingers. Like a greedy bug, the flame jumped from his fingers and began to travel in a circle – around the circle of flames he had created earlier. Even though the flames had distinguished, the ash remained, forming a perfect circle.

It was the perfect base for a large transmutation circle. Before Kimblee had left the threshold of the circle, the dot-to-dot ember had etched out a glowing amber transmutation circle which Roy activated while placing his foot on the circle. Alchemists channelled the power of the earth to wield their alchemy, so why couldn't the same apply to channelling power through their own bodies?

He was Roy Mustang. On its own, it was a name. But when he had people to protect, it became part of his identity. It was something he could fight for.

The transmutation flared to life and rock spikes, similar to that of Major Armstrong's, shot out from the ground. Kimblee's body coiled instinctively to protect his vulnerable organs, but that was never Roy's target. Out of the hundred rock missiles he created, a dozen pierced the transmutation tattoos on Crimson's palms. They were shaved off like wool from a sheep.

"Clever," Kimblee's eyes widened in surprise, but the man smirked again, "but not clever enough to defeat _me!_ "

The man with the slick ponytail furled his bleeding palm into a fist and used it to smack against his abdomen. Roy saw a fiendish red light suddenly appear at the back of the man's throat and he _knew_ what Kimblee was planning-

Bang.

Kimblee's leg bucked from where his Achilles' tendon had been shot through. The man gagged and the Philosopher's Stone fell on the ground. But they were fighting onto a hill, and the relief of the land quickly caused the Stone to begin to tumble downwards…straight in Roy's direction.

"It seemed like a good time for you to receive assistance, Sir," Hawkeye spoke to Roy from his side and the Colonel nodded, relieved for her appearance.

"Good timing, Lieutenant."

"Try not to be as dramatic next time though, Colonel. Your alchemic stunts may have caused permanent damage to these grasslands."

"Point taken. However, I believe this conversation can wait," Roy winced as he moved forward on his throbbing leg. His body was throbbing, especially his head.

"I would duck if I were you, Sir," and Hawkeye lowered herself to the ground and pushed Roy to the floor too. Suddenly a beam of light seemed to emit from the Armstrong mansion. It was a narrowed and focused beam. As Roy squinted, he noticed that the light's source came from that freakish beacon. Staff at the Armstrong mansion had set up mirrors to reflect the deadly source of light to bounce back where it came from. Kimblee groaned as he was momentarily blinded by the light.

But that was not all that Viola Cadence Armstrong had planned.

The next phase of her plan began immediately. Using the beam of light as a guide, multiple gunshots sounded through the night. They ricocheted off the buildings, following the beam of light. Their aim was one disheartened Crimson Alchemist. Kimblee couldn't help but howl in pain as wounds opened across his skin like gaping holes.

"Ha…"

Kimblee cackled softly, his face illuminated by the silvery light. He already looked like a ghost.

"Ha…"

But if anyone had learnt anything from Ishval, it was that the survivors were what the name implied: Survivors. They lived. They survived. And in the case of Kimblee, through any means necessary.

The brief flutter of hope and victory that had blossomed in Roy's chest faded as Kimblee laughed more fiercely than ever, and his hand hit the ground. The transmutation circle etched with his blood glowed. The ground beside Roy trembled and the earth suddenly shifted _upwards,_ throwing Roy and Riza into a spiral of confusion. Riza fired, but her aim was blind. The Philosopher's Stone landed in the insane man's palms.

"Thank you for the performance, Mustang," Kimblee tipped his hat towards Roy, "but this is my stage. I'm here to perform solo!"

* * *

 _Hi. Yeah, that was a_ long _hiatus. I've been applying for university with the joys of interviews and life in general being rather hectic. But I am still here and still writing (don't look at me like that Ed, your story hasn't finished yet). I'll need to get back into the creative flow again but we're already making progress! :D_

 _I hope you enjoyed, and if you've stuck around for the ride, thank you for your patience! If there are any new readers, welcome to LBYL :)_


	16. Pace

Pace

"What a hit!" Havoc exclaimed from the window he was positioned at. He looked around the corner of his shoulder, watching as maids and staff of the Armstrong mansion bustled around as quickly as they could, doing their best to fulfil the wish of their mistress' orders. Many of the requests were perplexing, especially when the order of portable mirrors to be directed to certain bedrooms had been issued by Viola.

Havoc had been confused at first too. However, when he discovered that was she was going to utilise the power of the beacon of light shining towards them by redirecting the beam, Havoc had whistled in amazement. That was a cunning idea.

When Hawkeye had left with the first wave of soldiers (Havoc knew that she would race on ahead to get to the Colonel. She was protective like that.), he had volunteered his help where he was needed. And because he had proficiency with firearms, he had been delivered the task of firing the bullets after the light's trajectory had been altered by the mirrors.

Intel from the battleground itself was scarce. There was no radio equipment and signals were not effective in the dark without giving away their position to the enemy. They had been forced to rely on their trust for each other and ability to follow orders. While he wasn't the best at finding love, this was something that Jean had been trained for, and he was confident in his abilities to fire rounds of bullets in a path literally lit up for him.

Havoc had to focus on playing his part. He would place his doubts in a closet and do his best to help where he was needed. He was by no means a pawn. If he was issued an order that he had queries about, he would raise them with his superior. That was what was great about the Boss. He _listened._ Hawkeye, Hughes and even the Chief were the same. He respected them for that.

An unsettling sensation rose inside of him. The Chief had been terrified…frozen and numb in fear and shock…over the presence of his brother. Havoc had not shared a similar relationship with his siblings, and a part of him had been jealous of the bond the Elric brothers shared, especially when Havoc saw them when they were younger. It stirred his memories and caused the rifts that had formed between his siblings to resurface.

As the name implied, the Elric brothers were a duo. Without one, the other one would not be able to continue on their journey to get their bodies back. They were dependent on each other for their very survival, and that was a bond conveyed by their actions every day. However, they were independent souls too. Alphonse and the Chief had separate identities, characteristics and passions. While the younger brother (obsessed with wearing a suit of armour as part of his alchemy training for some reason unknown to the Second Lieutenant), was quieter and more sensitive, the elder was rash and impulsive. Havoc had come to respect Alphonse over the years he had known the kid, but he shared a special relationship with the Chief that consisted of many witty remarks and subtle insults about the Colonel. Those were some good times.

Havoc scratched his chin. He was craving for a cigarette.

His fingers twitched and moved instinctively to his pockets. He fumbled for a packet, but it was empty. He tried the other pocket. Nothing. He knew that Hughes wouldn't smoke (something about bearing the responsibility of being a family man with a young child at home) and he was the only one on the team that smoked (when sober that was). He sighed and scanned the horizon for signs of movement, but parts of the ground were really goddamn bright and the rest was bathed in indigo-midnight darkness.

He hoped that the Boss was alright.

He shook his head quickly. He could spend his time fretting like his mother did, or he could do something. And being one of the only members of the team not to be maimed, he knew it was his responsibility to stay healthy. He didn't like to be baggage.

And then his head cocked to the side as he heard the signal. It was a bell chiming at midnight. Havoc groaned like an elderly man as straightened up, and after he had loosened his neck and shoulder muscles, he swung his rifle over his shoulder and kicked the doors down with his foot. He wasn't too sure if the door had survived or not, but he did not look back. It could have been the unending adrenaline that had him all jittery; he blamed the lack of cigarettes.

Of which he was _craving so much_ at that moment.

He hurtled down the stairs three at a time and hopped onto the ground floor without pausing. Jean didn't know the way; he simply followed the maids that were hurrying in one particular direction. And Havoc had always had a weakness for pretty women. He couldn't help but grin. Even though he didn't have his beloved cigarettes to smoke, he didn't have the Boss nagging at him about his love life. Sweet bliss…

"Watch where you're wandering!" a man hissed as Havoc nearly bumped into him. His brain didn't register that he was about to walk into someone. It was like he was having such a lovely dream. The man looked at him, scowled and pranced towards the front of the mansion where the great doors stood. The pretty Armstrong doctor was standing there, but from his previous dating experience with Armstrong women or lack thereof. Havoc would rather be subjected to hearing Major Armstrong ramble on about so and so Armstrong doing something incredible…and that is all that the Second Lieutenant remembered from that particular conversation, of which there were _many…_ than romantically involve himself with the Armstrongs again.

The man that he had bumped into had made his way to stand by the blonde doctor's side and Viola, who had been looking out into the night, turned around to address the people who had gathered around her. Havoc swallowed, bile rising at the back of his mouth.

"The troops have arrived, and our plan was flawless," she started, but before the room could erupt into cheers, the people regained a sense of trepidation when she raised her hand. There was more to come, "Kimblee is acting alone. And from what intelligence we have gathered, this is very in character for him. However, the lack of offense from the enemy concerns me…"

Viola trailed off and glanced over her shoulder into the thick of night. Havoc strained his ears trying to discern sounds coming from outside. He could hear the odd gunshot but oddly there was hush. It was unnerving.

"We need to figure out what the enemy is planning, and fast. But we must not alert the MPs," the man by Viola's side added and she nodded firmly in agreement.

"Someone has to cross over to the enemy's location. That beacon needs to be destroyed. It will not be long before they reposition it and our defence becomes useless. I need my medical team here to tend to the wounded. The Crimson Alchemist is a man with a violent name to him," Viola Cadence then turned to look at Jean Havoc. She glanced at him with deep blue eyes that couldn't be described with words. The closest that were accurate were dark teal.

"I assume that person will be me then," Havoc shrugged and then added, "I'm not a doctor."

"In fact, we did not think about you stepping to investigate enemy territory. I just wanted to alert you that your allies are safe; they have temporarily been evacuated to a safe location," Viola looked close to rolling her eyes but refrained. Her expression implied that the temptation to was great however.

"Oh…OH!" Havoc exclaimed and scratched his chin. It was a nervous habit he had picked up (and he needed a goddamn cigarette). But he found that the welling pit of anxiety in his stomach that had been making him feel nauseous all evening ebbed a little. Knowing that the Chief, his brother and the Lieutenant Colonel were safe was reassuring. That was an understatement. He was _relieved_ and the nerves literally left his body as he exhaled deeply, revelling in the feeling. He didn't want to be the only member of the team trapped here. He needed to be out _there_ where he could see and protect what was important to him.

"Will you do it?" she asked him formally, fully turning her body in his direction. The crowds parted so there was a clear path between the two individuals. She had an aura of presence and stature about her, and despite his being taller than her, he knew who was the dominant figure here. He met her gaze willingly.

"I will," he said earnestly.

"Good. Then you must change into this," she threw him a hideous black outfit that he assumed had been plucked straight out of a child's nightmare and woven into this article of clothing. He shivered, but if it protected him, he would wear it begrudgingly.

"Miss Armstrong?" he called out. His hand rested on the door to a bedroom where he was going to change. Anticipation flooded through him as it had in the old days.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Where are they?" there was no need to add more detail for her to understand.

"There's a hidden passageway in the kitchen. It connects underground into a network of-"

Havoc's mind flashed with images of tunnels and crying boys and blood everywhere why was there so much blood they were only children. His vision swirled back and he staggered on his feet. Was he drowning in blood? He could smell it in the air. Every vile stench in the world. The tunnels reeked of them. The tunnels below Turinene…which the Armstrong mansion was apparently connected to…

Ed.

Havoc threw the hideous black costume on the floor and started running as if his life depended on it. Maybe his didn't…but theirs did…

 _Fuck run faster Jean._

 _Faster, faster, faster and don't stop._

They had walked straight into a trap.

* * *

 _He could hear Kimblee's breathing. He could hear the footsteps. All around him at every moment._

 _He couldn't sleep and he couldn't escape. How could he escape when the world was dark? It was confusing and that made him scared. The times when he didn't know what to do were the most frightening by far. And considering that that was now every waking and dreaming moment, the world had become a terrifying place._

 _He could hear breathing. He knew it had to be Kimblee. The air was cold and damp as it was in the tunnels. There was never an escape route. Why would there be for someone like him?_

 _Ed had been given the afternoon off. He had produced an excellent alchemic voltage that morning (it could have been night it could have been morning but he knew knew knew it was_ Hell _) and therefore Kimblee had given his body time to rest for the afternoon._

 _He hated alchemy. It was both a sin and an abomination. A malignancy that infected his body like the infection was coursing through his. It channelled evil throughout his soul, giving him the power over the earth to wield and manifest. Alchemy belonged to the Devil. And if alchemy flowed through his body like it was an extension of himself, he had to be some demon. He deserved to root in those tunnels, in his own persona underworld._

 _Edward glanced at the walls and closed his eyes. He had become accustomed to the smells and the sights. They didn't do anything wrong to him. It was just those goddamn footsteps that he could hear coming to seal his doom no don't touch me-_

 _He could hear them now._

 _Dah dun dah dun dah dun._

 _That was his heart._

 _No, those were the footsteps. What else could it be?_

 _Drip drip drip._

 _Running water? Just like…rain? It had been so long since he had felt a breeze, just like the summer days in Resembool…that was a pleasant thought…_

 _When had he last felt refreshing rain on his face? Would they be able to wash away the tearstains that left his skin red and raw?_

 _But he could still hear the footsteps. His head swayed from side to side like a doll and he didn't know where the sound was coming from it was hard to see but he knew that they were there and they would be coming to get him after all._

 _Kimblee would be back. He would chain Edward up to his machine again and work the wonders of demons._

 _There was no rest for the wicked._

 _Not ever ever ever-_

"Ed" a voice called, snapping Edward out of his daydream. The dream had been so vivid though. He was crying again. He tried to wipe away the tears but his arm was too sore so he didn't move. But this was one thing that he could do by himself, so he reached up painfully, ignoring the sharp shooting pain that trickled up and down his spine like a leaky pipe.

Drip drip drip drip.

He could definitely hear that. The air around him was damp and there was the distinct dripping of running water that seemed to ruminate all around him. He would never forget that sound. He had heard it in his dream…which was a memory.

It was all a memory. None of it could be a bad dream when the nightmares were real and lived on. No mercy. Never any mercy for Edward Elric.

His ribs complained as his body swayed up and down. He could feel pressure against his skin and there was direct contact between him and another human being and that repulsed him because what right did he have to be in the presence of _another human being_ and he panicked and squirmed to get out of the person's grasp. He twisted as far as he could go before his skin was screaming and he was screaming and he could hear Kimblee he was coming to get him.

Dah dun dah dun dah dun.

"Ed, it's alright…"

Was that the Lieutenant Colonel?

 _Hughes?_ His thoughts pondered wearily. He had been conscious for two minutes and already the effort was immense and his grip to this world was tenuous and fraying, splitting like old rope. He repeated the thought out aloud.

"The one and only, kiddo," Hughes replied, and Ed felt his heart flutter for a moment (that was what the noise was dumbass your heart Kimblee is gone and you're never going to see him again stop forgetting goddammit Elric). His heart rate began to slow and he relaxed in Hughes' grip.

Hughes was panting. He then realized that the Lieutenant Colonel was carrying Edward at a brisk pace. And there really was water dripping.

Edward wasn't completely losing his mind.

 _-Too late for that.-_

 _Just shut up._

A couple of droplets landed on Edward's head and his body stiffened before he adjusted to the rhythm of the swaying motion and the sparkling sensation of water hitting his forehead. Without a head of hair to protect the back of his neck, he could feel the chilly air nip him at his shoulders like a wolf's fierce bite. The air was heavy, and for all he knew he was at the entrance of a beast's lair.

"Al? Al, where are you?" Ed moaned, and almost instantly Ed felt a hand clasp his own, if only for a moment. Al was there. Al was safe. They were going to be alright. But where were they going?

"Keep still, Ed. Al is here but he is very tired at the moment," Hughes said.

"Can we stop?" Ed asked, clasping his hand close to his chest. He wanted to keep it safe. Just in case of Kimblee. He always had to remain on his guard.

"There has been a situation," Hughes started, but when Ed groaned in response, Hughes knew he had to give the kid the full answer if he was going to have any piece of mind. And if Maes Hughes could do anything to help a torture victim, even if that was running to the moon, he would do it, provided he could have one of Gracia's home-cooked meals and an undisturbed sleep for three days. Then he would be able to manage it. He had exceeded the boundaries of exhaustion, so his mind was filled with a numb, mindless sort of bliss. Maes licked his lips. He was salivating just thinking about Gracia's cooking. With his free hand that wasn't hoisting the older Elric brother over his shoulder; he slapped himself across the face.

"Hughes?" Ed asked again and the man nearly forgot what he was doing. Sleep _did_ sound like a wonderful prospect.

Ed too wanted to sleep, but when Hughes starting talking, Ed finally felt his mind come to its senses into a state of lucidity he had not experienced in a long time.

"We were at the Armstrong mansion in the outskirts of Turinene. We took you there after we found you in the tunnels below the town," Maes carefully avoided too many precise details. He didn't want Ed to slip away from him, especially when it took every ounce of the kid's strength to stay fixed to reality. He continued: "You lost a lot of blood and so the doctors needed to give you some more. You were recovering, but there was a commotion outside. It wasn't safe for us to stay. We are travelling along a hidden passageway below the mansion. It will take us somewhere safe."

"Are the others…?" Ed trailed off.

"They're helping to keep the bad people away from the mansion. If the building was damaged, I don't think that Major Armstrong would be too impressed, would you?" Maes was speaking to Ed as he would his daughter, but already he was speaking with more maturity as Ed's mind gained more and more lucidity.

"No, he wouldn't," and Ed laughed. It was a weak laugh that could have been mistaken for a cough. But it was a laugh alright. It filled Maes' tired core with a dancing light.

Ed heard a sound ahead of him, the place where Al was. Al couldn't be running though. Ed then heard a groan and a _clack._

"Phillip, are you alright?" Hughes called out, coming to a halt. He kept hold of Edward as he lowered his hand to help the Armstrong servant back to his feet. The man had come along because he knew the routes that the tunnels took; he used to explore their cavernous depths when he was a boy. Phillip was strong with a builder's frame and he could easily carry Alphonse and supplies while maintaining speed.

"We'll take a five minute rest. I'll have a look at that ankle, Phillip. I know you come from a household of doctors and I am not qualified, but I have learnt first aid…" Edward felt himself be lowered delicately and slowly to the ground. He came into contact with the rocky earth moments later. Despite the cold floor beneath him, there was a warm presence by his side and without a second thought Ed pushed himself closer to that warmth and buried his head onto Al's shoulder.

He couldn't leave his brother alone. Al still cared for him. As he did for Al. Out of anyone, Al would accept him for whoever he was…even if that person was a monster…

Ed recoiled and pushed himself away from Al with his left hand, but before he could move he felt something grasp his shirt. Al held him tightly.

"S-stay brother," Al murmured.

Ed's heart ached. His stomach swirled with love for his brother.

 _Do you mean it, Al? Can I stay by your side, like we did before? Can we continue our journey together…so we can smile again?_

"Al," Ed whispered and he shakily pulled himself closer to Al.

"W-warm…" his little brother said. But in that place, they didn't have to speak. They didn't have to look and they didn't have to listen. They could just _be._

...

Across the narrow gap that separated one side of the tunnel from the other, Maes deftly pulled out a bandage from his bag of supplies. Luckily there was no swelling and nothing felt broken, so Phillip would be able to move. There would be an angry purple bruise in the days to follow, but scars would heal.

Maes yearned to shut his eyes for five minutes and dream. But he knew that the moment he surrendered to sleep, he would not be able to wake up. Even though he had suffered through the sleepless nights of Ishval, when he had returned to Gracia's arms every night, she helped to soothe him into a lulling trance. The nightmares became less and less vivid. And after a year of returning from the line of duty, he could finally have an undisturbed sleep. He became a very heavy sleeper, even after the arrival of the cutest baby girl in the whole world.

He smiled fondly. Hell, he was lucky. Roy and Hawkeye had not been as fortunate on that front; he knew that they were plagued constantly with nightmares. Nobody could just "get over" Ishval. The psychiatrist he had been recommended had treated his experience in Ishval as a phase, a part of the natural cycle one's mind meandered down.

He pictured the beautiful smiles of his girls. He was the luckiest man in the world. It was a clichéd thought, but Hughes knew that it was true.

"Where are we now exactly?" the Lieutenant Colonel asked dozily. He rested his head against the tunnel wall, but rock was uncomfortable. There was a cold breeze behind him, and he attempted the best he could to wrap his coat more closely around him, draping it over his shoulders. Some loose water dripped down his back too. Hughes rubbed his eyes wearily. He shuddered and woke up fully.

His sharp eyes suddenly glanced around. The ceiling here had become significantly taller than what it had been when they had first left the Armstrong mansion several hours ago. It was likely due to where the tunnels approached the town. In days long past, these tunnels could have been a major mode of transport before the days of cars and trains.

He then realized his teeth were chattering. That breeze behind him was _sharp._ But why would there be a breeze in these tunnels?

The air should be stale and musty. So why…

Maes felt the breath rip from his throat. _There shouldn't be a breeze._

He scrambled quickly to his feet and turned around, pivoting on the spot rapidly and he nearly tripped backwards. The wall here was incredibly thin. He placed a hand on the surface of the wall…and it slipped away. There was a flash of blue light and a figure manifested out of the shadow.

"Maes Hughes, excellent! You were just who I was looking for!"

…

Edward stirred. He. Knew. That. Voice.

Kimblee.

The doctor.

The madman.

The torturer.

His puppeteer.

His darkness.

Fuery's voice called out to him.

Al's voice.

His mother's. All of the voices calling out to him, begging for his help.

 _"_ _Help me, Edward. I need your power. I need it more than anything else in the world!"_

Kimblee. NoName. Monster.

Nonononono NOT AL BAD!

…

"Maes Hughes, excellent! You were just who I was looking for!"

Einar Kimblee stepped forth from the crumbly space between the main network of tunnels and the set he had established over the years. They were littered underneath Turinene. He had complete control over them.

"Oh, Edward. You are here too! I have missed you," Kimblee said excitedly in Ed's direction. Al's eyes opened and he screamed, scrambling against the wall. Ed bristled in fear like a stray dog, hairs raised and teeth bared. His glazed eyes stared angrily at nothing, but it felt like they saw so much more than grey.

"Don't you touch them," Maes said, his voice weak. Why had he goddamn fallen for this trap? He was supposed to _protect them and now look what he had done._ He let a dagger slip into his hands-

Kimblee saw the slight movement of Maes' wrist however. With a blank expression on his face, he walked up to Maes and punched the man in the gut. He didn't say a word. And Maes didn't cry out.

Edward was petrified. But he heard the familiar sound of someone being winded. Ed panicked and his chest tightened in fear and pain but he had no other choice, he would have to transmute-

 _-Fuery needed your help.-_

 _-Hughes needs your help.-_

 _-He has a wife and child. Does he deserve your protection, oh mighty Fullmetal Alchemist?-_

"Phillip, we don't have any more use of the Elric brothers. Take them back. They gave me alchemy and I will give them freedom. Equivalent Exchange!" Maes watched in horror as Phillip, the man he had _trusted,_ knock the Elric brothers unconscious.

"You, Maes Hughes, will be the key to our next target. The infamous Flame Alchemist," Kimblee's eyes clouded over and his tone suddenly shifted and became personal, malicious, "Colonel _Roy Mustang_."

* * *

Roy felt...sick. His stomach curled inwardly on itself. Kimblee had advanced a few steps, but Crimson had stopped and was looking out at the night.

"This is a beautiful night for destruction," he said sweetly, and he closed his eyes and raised them to the heavens.

"You'll be destroying nothing here, damn you," Roy swore. Kimblee licked his lips and placed the Philosopher's Stone between his teeth.

"Oh I cannot wait!" the prisoner exclaimed.

The beacon behind them suddenly extinguished.

"But that is my signal to go! It was nice to see you again, Flame. I'll be seeing you again sooner than you think," Kimblee's voice vanished. Roy snapped his fingers to create a light, but it was too late. Kimblee was gone.

And the sickening pit in his stomach became that much deeper. He felt like he was sinking in the sand...just like he had in Ishval.

He trusted his instinct; he knew that something terrible had happened.

* * *

 _This is the end of Arc One! It doesn't have a name yet, but I'm sure it will soon._

 _I am so sorry for the cliffhanger as well. All of the team are being affected :(_

 _I really wanted to explore the friendship between Maes and Roy before LBYL proceeds to Arc Two. I think it'll be important to the story. So I have decided to start a short story entitled 'Desert Days' that will be up on my profile soon. It is a side story to LBYL really, so if that sounds like something you're interested in, have a quick read!_

 _Thank you for reading and I'll see you next time :)_


	17. Yellow Pots of Sunshine

Yellow Pots of Sunshine

He was there. He was here. He was everywhere and his laugh had burnt into the boy's brain-

There was no escape from his mind. There was no escape from the expanding void of fear and terror that raged on throughout his soul.

Every second, he told himself that he was _safe_ and the elongated shapes that danced before his eyes were merely puppets and the puppet master was his Shadow. The darkness was a part of his brain. He understood the biochemistry of what caused these damn hallucinations (that's what they were, isn't it?). He wasn't losing control he wasn't-

Edward heard NoName's laugh again and he flinched. He attempted to curl his body closer to his head. The sound of his heartbeat helped soothe him. He visibly relaxed for an instant however; he contorted in pain (always in so much damn _pain_ ) because he had been damaged by the alchemic voltage.

Wounds took time to heal. But Ed didn't have _time_.

He had nightmares and the shadows and that damn laugh that perforated through his skull. When one couldn't see the demons they were fighting, this caused the sense of vulnerability to follow. The Fullmetal Alchemist may have been short, but he was not vulnerable thank you very much. The blind boy was defenceless against the threats that surrounded him.

Fear morphed into terror which morphed into horror.

Kimblee's ice-blue eyes and menacing grin were ingrained in his mind. And Fuery-

- _You never told them, did you?-_ His Shadow mused sadly. If they had been capable of manifesting a physical form, they would have started to occupy their boredom by filing their nails or something of a similar nature.

 _I-I did! I'm b-bad. So very bad,_ Edward wanted to tear up. Here in his void, he could see everything but nothing. Like a reflection of memory, events from his time in the tunnels flashed here. He could see (and smell) the blood so clearly. Edward could see the shadows twist and morph in his peripheral vision, cackling at having such a weak host to contend with.

 _-You don't know, do you? How pathetic. Tell me, boy, what is real and what is an illusion?-_

 _I d-don't know…I DON'T KNOW GODDAMNIT!_ The older Elric screamed into his voice. His tone quivered. He didn't know. Edward Elric did not know if this void was real or not.

The nuisance with being blind was that every whisper and every hitch of breath and every fluttering of the breeze could be a manifestation, a caricature, a fake. Hell, how could he be sure if he was real?

 _-Is this the most lucid you're going to become? We believe your superior's nickname 'Useless' is far more appropriate for the likes of you-_

 _My superior officer? Do you mean that bastard? Roy Mustang?_ Ed hated that he had to question that information. Frustration tingled along his fingertips.

Half of his consciousness screamed into the void: of course that bastard is real! He wouldn't let you get away with anything! Remember how useless he was in the rain when you battled Scar with Al!

The other half was silent.

 _-Are you going to question the existence of your own brother?-_ His Shadow snorted, and Ed could not discern from the tone whether this heinous excuse of an entity was being sarcastic or damn annoying.

Ed remained silent. He wouldn't question the existence of his brother or that dumb bastard again. He knew they were _real._ As his Shadow was real. There was no escape from his void-

Half of his consciousness could hear footsteps and the dripping of water. He could hear echoes bouncing off walls as he was being carried by a figure. His left hand clasped Al's. He was saying words of comfort, even if Al couldn't hear him.

The other half could only hear Kimblee's splitting laughter, a force that could shatter glass (like the vase filled with white daffodils in the fucking _Enlightenment Room_ ). NoName's voice also whispered promises to him, with a voice as delicate as butterfly's wings and velvet. Everyone succumbed to the lulling lies of that monster.

Being blind meant that he couldn't just _snap out of it._

Being blind meant that he had to fight _every damn second to be lucid._

Being blind made him _useless._

He hated to feel this way. This was not the way that anyone should be living their lives, day in, day out, waiting for the shadows to creep in from their houses they had harvested in his mind. It was all in his head…it was all just a dream…a sadistic illusion.

And it was what scared Edward the most.

Was he ever going to get better?

…

He wasn't ever going to see again. That was the truth of the matter. Truth was nothing but an ideology of what one conceived to be real. But Edward didn't know what to believe anymore; he didn't know what was true.

Would he be able to see again?

Everyone could be watching him. They could _see_ what pathetic piece of shit Edward Elric had warped into. Soldiers in the Amestrian military had endured through _Ishval_ and were still able to fight what they believed in. Edward couldn't survive through a meagre six weeks of Kimblee-

 _NO, DON'T TOUCH ME!_

 _-Who is touching you exactly?_

 _I d-don't know. I don't fucking know, alright!? It's hard…_

 _-It's a shame. Even if you wanted to end your life, you would not be able to. You wouldn't have the means of jumping off a roof like the fallen hero you are-_

 _Stop it._

 _-Stop what?-_

 _Stop it!_

 _-I'm pointing out the facts. It's the closest that you alchemists come to the truth. However, you're not sure of anything anymore. Such a waste. You had such potential.-_

 _Don't estimate me, you bastard._

 _-Valiantly fighting the nightmares as usual, Edward Elric. You've not changed, boy.-_

 _…_

 _-You know that's true. You're just a boy. A helpless little boy who doesn't have his mother by his side. A boy who tried to be God and dragged his little brother along for the descent into Hell. You had no choice but to move forward only because your coincidence was riddled with the sins that you, and you alone, committed. Ridiculously weak.-_

 _Couldn't even survive six weeks…_

 _-We know.-_

And the voice(s) of his Shadow fell dormant once again. They abandoned him at the precipice of insanity. When his mind was about to cave in, surrender and fall apart, the one constant source of conversation slipped away into nothing. He needed his Shadow. Otherwise, Ed knew his mind would have slipped a long time ago. If he didn't have his Shadow constantly tormenting him, he would fall into the clutches of Kimblee.

NoName was not keen to let his prey escape.

He heard a voice calling to him. If it wasn't the presence of his Shadow, then it had to be Kimblee. Edward summoned his bravest expression but the dread shifted like sand in his gut. The man was coming closer to him and there would be no escape-

The voice called to him a little louder. Edward tried to curl more tightly on himself. If he could shrink enough, he could possibly vanish. Kimblee would leave him alone for the night. However, then Al would be hurt. And Edward couldn't let that happen. Not again. He had failed enough-

"Fullmetal!"

A single word was said. It snapped Edward out of his trance and shakily brought him back to reality. The voice was like an anchor that had been thrown out to him and the blond grasped onto the voice with every last ounce of strength he had. He didn't want to be lost in the sea of his endless despair again. It would happen (that was the truth) but for the lucid periods of time he was blessed with, he held onto those dearly.

"Colonel?" Edward asked.

"Yes, runt, that's me," Mustang replied and despite the insult that was thrown at him, his voice was laced with concern.

"Not short," the younger alchemist sighed so the last of what he spoke sounded no louder than a whisper. Ed could imagine the bastard smirking like the damn smug git he was. In his mind's eye, the image was crystal clear. The colonel would be sitting at his desk. Scattered paperwork would be littered across the desk, incomplete and smudged with either ink or coffee stains. The atmosphere in the office was lively productivity. Light would pour into the room and the bastard would groan and sink deeper into his chair. The Fullmetal Alchemist would be snugly buried into one of the sofas and watch in amusement as the First Lieutenant made threats at her slacking superior officer. Ed would slap his report on the table and leave the way he had come, hopefully not to return to the office where the damn bastard would be waiting for his next report. He would leave and return with a string of insults about how the dark-haired man would slack off and deserved to the victim of Hughes' entourage of photographs of Elicia and Gracia-

A strange sensation tickled his lips. Edward wasn't quite sure how it manifested, but a smile was brewing across his face, like the Sun becoming visible through the storm clouds that ushered nothing but rain and misery. As quickly as the smile appeared, it faded just as rapidly. His world was swarmed with impenetrable darkness, as thick and gloomy as a spider's web.

Some things would never change, and the darkness was one of them.

If he wished this burden upon someone else for a second, Edward wouldn't be able to forgive himself. This was his burden. Perhaps this was the price he had meant to pay when he had brought Al's body back from the Gate. A gut-wrenching feeling twisted like a knot in Edward's abdomen. On the night that they had failed to resurrect their dead mother, he should have given his life up in exchange. When he had bound Al's soul to that lifeless husk of a body that was the suit of armour, Edward had paid with a limb. According to Truth, this had been equivalent, but Edward had secretly known that the toll for their human transmutation was incomplete. They were only beginning to pay the price.

"You're a midget, Fullmetal. The sooner you can learn to accept that-" the older alchemist was cut off when Edward began to shake his head furiously. He could almost _feel_ the blood swishing around in his brain. What little he had left.

"I will grow to be taller than you, one day, Mustang. You mark my words," Edward hissed through bared teeth. He could hear the colonel laugh in response. Even if it was quietly, Edward's hearing had had to compensate for the loss of his sight. He could hear the pitter patter of water droplets falling from the surface above his head and collect in puddles below on the ground. He had his back leaning against a cold wall. The alchemist lifted his hand weakly and rubbed his hand against the surface, surprised at the smoothness. It felt like concrete or brick. The cobbles that were prevalent throughout Turinene and the deeper parts of those tunnels had a jagged feel when he touched them. They were the surfaces that would entice the blood to swell to his skin and eagerly greet its sharp, rocky teeth.

Edward shivered and missed what Mustang had told him. He blew at the air in front of him. One of his bangs was draped across his face and it was annoying him to hell. Almost as much as the git annoyed him: "what, bastard?"

"I _said_ that you're in the cellar below the Armstrong mansion. You should be safe. But…Maes…" the man trailed off.

Memories as sharp as knives jabbed the boy blindly in the throat (or was it the shameful remains of his heart?) as he remembered Hughes Fuery Al Armstrong _Kimblee-_

He was helpless to the shadows that were coagulating like crimson blood at the back of his mind. Edward morbidly remembered a stormy night in which a brave little girl had been snatched from this world. Had she known that her father was going to betray her the way she did? Nina was the happiest child alive- she had a love for the world and life. She didn't deserve the twisted fate she had been dumped with.

In that room…when her father had activated the chimera transmutation circle, had she clutched Alexander and closed her eyes and screamed? Or had she been smiling until the end? Did she believe that she could make her Papa happy?

 _Nina…_

 _-She had more strength than you.-_

 _Go away! She is none of your concern!_

 _-She clearly wasn't your concern either. You left her to die. You couldn't save her.-_

"Colonel," the blond said seriously. Edward could hear the bastard pause and intake a surprisingly heavy breath. He did not reply, instead tersely waiting what the boy had to say.

Edward could feel the tendrils of his sanity beginning to loosen again. His lucid periods were becoming brief interludes of peace, bliss…paradise. It would not be long before he was a crying, screaming, blinded mess in the hands of Kimblee. He was waiting, always waiting and watching- soon, soon, _soon._

"Al, is he ok?" Edward asked. After receiving a grunt as a reply (typical bastard colonel), Edward lowered his head, wondering what surface his bleached irises were staring at. He couldn't close his eyes. That was when the darkness became unbearable.

"Here," the colonel suddenly moved closer and he tentatively took the boy's hand. Edward flinched (don't touch me) but he held his breath and felt as the bastard gently took his hand and moved it towards his left. Edward immediately was holding someone warm. _Al._

The younger Elric brother, tensed and doubtful, relaxed within his nightmare realm. Edward wanted nothing more than to absorb the burden that his brother had harvesting within his soul. He wished he could unravel the circular string of fear and pain and paranoia and fill it with serenity. Ed wanted Al to taste as much ice cream as he desired. Screw the consequences of having a bloated stomach after.

"Al," Edward said one word that conveyed the love and devotion he possessed. It was the unwavering promise that had prevented him from sitting down and giving up all of those years ago. Even if Al didn't hear it, the Fullmetal Alchemist hoped that Al could sense even a fraction of that unspoken promise.

"Bastard…thanks," Edward sighed but his face tightened and grimaced. He couldn't keep fighting the forces in his mind forever (oh but for Al he _would. Just a little bit longer._ ).

"My pleasure, needy brat," Mustang retorted.

Edward swallowed. He didn't have much time left. He had to tell the bastard now. Everything quickly before Kimblee's hands grabbed for him and then there would be no escape-

 _Fuck. Off._

"Tunnels…they were a trap," Edward felt his lungs drowning. Breathing was becoming laborious. Head giddy. Not long left, "Kimblee took Hughes. Close. Needed him…to get to _you._ "

Trembling, he curled his hand into a fist and sank it deep into his lap. His muscles were horrifically weak (his teacher would have been disappointed), and hence no damage was done. Edward sniffed. He would not cry again. He continued slowly, "Mustang…Kimblee took some of my alchemy into himself. He's found a way to create…a-alchemists. Through a v-voltage. Alchemist's power can be induced by p-pain. So they- _Fuery…"_

And that is when Edward started sobbing.

"Bastard – don't just sit or stand there dammit! Tell me off! Call me short or whatever! Punish me. Please…do _something_ ," Edward's right leg kicked out in front of him, hoping to latch onto anything that wasn't air.

"No."

Ed listened to the bastard's footsteps. They shuffled and scrapped at the ground. Mustang was moving. Within seconds, he was sitting on Edward's other side. They were not touching, but Ed could feel the scarce heat radiating from the man, as though he was the living embodiment of the name gifted to him by the State, the name keeping him on the leash that all of them Dogs shared.

"Why?" Edward felt his back slouch. His right shoulder tightened. He was lucky he had become immune to the consistent physical pain that made him want to rip the skin from his body in the hope that it would diminish. That was one thing his mind was good for: it was a handy distraction.

"The Sergeant cared for you deeply, Edward," Roy muttered earnestly, keeping his voice low. "Helping you was his _choice._ If any of us were in the same position, the same choice would have been made. We are a team, shorty. Honour him for that."

"Aren't you m-mad?" Edward turned his neck stiffly. Roy looked into those glazed eyes that somehow danced with an emotion he couldn't name. Or maybe it was a flood of _experiences_ that Roy could sense emanating from the blond alchemist. Six weeks could become a lifetime; he knew from his own hellish experiences in Ishval.

"Yes, I'm furious," and the colonel's tone was deathly serious. He threatened: "if I could singe out his tongue and char his brains to a barbeque I would this instant. No questions asked."

"So why are you here?" Edward was genuinely perplexed. When one thought they had sussed out the bastard, he threw a spanner into the works. The Fullmetal Alchemist had never thought the man could be this enigmatic.

"Because Hawkeye put me on babysitting duty-"

"Who are you calling so short they could only be classed as a baby?" Edward lashed out. His body convulsed at the effort, but he ignored its futile protests.

"Not you, clearly," was the sarcastic drawl in response.

"Where is Hawkeye? Shouldn't you be going after Hughes?" Edward said, prevailing anxiety riddled into every syllable.

"She has gone to investigate the tunnels to find Hughes," Roy commented.

"Are you not worried about the Lieutenant…what about Hughes?!"

"I trust her," the simplicity of those words carried a lifetime's worth of blood, sweat and tears, of promises of loyalty to tread through Hell for each other, and the promise for a new chapter for the nation of Amestris that they called home. "She knows her orders. She is not allowed to die."

"You never get left behind though, Mustang," Edward pondered but when Mustang explained about his broken leg and how he had _still_ stubbornly fought in a battle against the Crimson Alchemist with it, Ed was tempted to roll his eyes. "You should have been called the Stubborn Alchemist."

"And do not underestimate Hughes. He is a _very_ protective father. You should see him with the other children at Elicia's birthday parties…firearms are involved," Roy smiled to himself; "nobody gets between him and his family."

"But-" but Edward was interjected by the conversation hoarder bastard alchemist.

"Now don't fret like a mother, Fullmetal. There will be time for that in the morning."

As he closed his eyes wearily, the Fullmetal Alchemist never realized that he didn't have any more haunting visions of Kimblee. It seemed that the bastard colonel really was good at something.

* * *

Edward dreamed that night.

The shadows that paced around his mind like hungry wolves didn't come any closer to him. Good. For some reason, Edward thought that they would stay in the shadows for once, as if he had the rare opportunity to control how close they came to him. He imagined a giant silver mesh surrounding him, and the metal appeared out of the blue. The wolves growled and pawed at the defence, but they couldn't make it through.

How was Edward in control?

He heard Al's laughter. He heard Winry yelling at him. He heard his verbal spars with the bastard. He could hear them _all._ Except for Kimblee. NoName was silent.

Suddenly, the grey vortex around him started to shift. The world before him _changed._ The monotone world of his nightmares began to twirl like ribbons. Edward thought that he was in a theatre, and instead of being a more spectator in the audience, he was on stage. _He_ was the one making the decisions.

It was strange.

He had not had this ability for as long as he could remember.

He blinked and the mute darkness that could kept letting his mind slip transformed into a window of colour. The blond was scared because if he so much as closed his eyes, he could plunge back into the torrent of black and grey that haunted his present. But when his eyes started to water and he was forced to blink again, the momentary disappointment vanished. The world around him was still so _bright._

Edward stared down at his body. No longer was it swathed in shadow. He could see the world.

He had four limbs. Four limbs made from his flesh and blood. He flexed them and like an excited puppy, leaped into the air. When nothing ached or tinged, the boy gasped, life renewing his soul with each and every breath.

Glancing around, he found himself standing in a field. The Sun shone overhead, igniting his straw-like hair to woven gold. The sunshine glimmered on the flowers around him. So many yellow flowers that theoretically could not being growing in the same place at the same time. There were daffodils and buttercups and dandelions, greedily collecting the Sun's golden treasure, like little yellow pots of sunshine blooming in the light.

Ed felt a tug at his sleeve. A flower crown woven from the flowers was shoved into his hands.

"Big brother, get down here! I need to put this on your head," it was Nina. Precious, sweet Nina was standing in front of him, a flower crown resting snugly on her forehead. Alexander was similarly donned with his own flower crown.

"Come here, Nina," a voice called. Ed felt his heart break. It was his mother…

Trisha Elric stepped through the field of flowers to stand next to the little girl and her eldest son. She held a dandelion puff and handed it to Nina.

"Make a wish," Trisha murmured and gracefully lowered herself to Nina's level, and began to braid her scraggly hair. She hummed a lullaby she had sung to Ed when Al had been born. And when Trisha had secured the second pigtail, she came up to Ed and began to braid his hair too. He inhaled her honeysuckle and lavender scent and for a moment, it felt like they had never lost her.

When Fuery stumbled up a few minutes later with a lopsided flower crown on his head, Ed couldn't help but snigger. Kain blushed shyly, but continued smiling all the same.

Words didn't need to pass between Ed and the people whom he cared for deeply. This was more than enough. But it had to end eventually, and it did so all of a sudden. He blinked and the yellow flowers were gone.

It may have been a dream, but it flooded him with such hope and _longing_ for a day like this in the future. Could this become a reality one day?

Edward dreamed that night and even though the likelihood of Kimblee returning full force tomorrow was high (Ed was certain of that), his captor was not here now. That is what mattered. Edward could revel in the peace that would let him have a blissful night's sleep for the first time in a day, a month, a year.

An eternity.

For tonight, at least, he was _free._

* * *

 _I was going to put this chapter and the next one together, but I felt that the boys needed a brief break from the chaos :'D The pace picks up again next chapter and the fates of Hawkeye, Havoc and Hughes will all be brought to light._

 _Thanks for reading!_


	18. Ouroboros Effect

Ouroboros Effect

Why did her superior officer have to wind himself up in so much trouble?

There would be a mound of paperwork to complete about why Colonel Roy Mustang had broken his leg on his holiday leave. The rescue of the Elric brothers in Turinene was supposed to be a secret mission, but it appeared that the Flame was equally as poor at discretion as Fullmetal. Believing that secrecy was of the upmost importance for this mission, the blonde knew she would have to threaten her CO more heavily…perhaps a rifle should be involved.

At least he had finally realized that having a broken _was_ painful, and yes, it was not advised that said patient moronically throw himself into the battlefield against a crazed alchemist with incredibly powerful alchemy. She wondered how she had not given up on the man already.

Riza Hawkeye silently sighed to herself as she picked up her pace, her gun held close to her chest. The draughty tunnels wound on and on like an endless chasm, spiralling like a spider's web. The First Lieutenant quickened her pace and adjusted her mental calculations accordingly; she wanted to ensure she had mapped out an accurate distance from where she was headed and the Armstrong residence. The Elric brothers had been in no fit state to attempt such a feat, and if her superior officer had been in presence, he would have been too intent of hunting down the captor of Edward and Alphonse.

She blinked fiercely, one of the few signs of anger that escaped her rigid composure. Riza was never the one to boil over in fury about anything. The cool demeanour she had woven across her complexion had served her well since Ishval. There was even rumour that it had scared away certain enemies of the colonel. Thinking about the issue, Riza thought she would subtly hint about a pay rise to her salary from Roy.

That would never happen. He knew why she served and followed him. As long as he stayed true to the path that he had promised her he would lead, she was content.

She was relieved the colonel had entrusted her with a task that kept her mind occupied. Otherwise…she feared she would have been rendered useless at a time when that could not happen. Not only were the Elric brothers broken (far more broken than she had been after Ishval and they were _young_ ) but Mustang had rendered himself unfit to battle and Hughes and Fuery were missing. Havoc, the quirky lady's man from the east, was not being the problematic member of the team currently.

Two of those said team members were unaccounted for, and if Hawkeye was stubborn about anything, it was the protection of her team. They were her family (that included Black Hayate too) and loyalty ran thickly through her blood. It drove her aching limbs forward; it dulled the aching tension headache that had settled in; and it quashed the uncertainty and desire to turn back.

There was no turning back.

As she journeyed further and further away from the Armstrong hospital, the tunnels began to open up. This was a gradual change; however, for someone who had been wandering down the same dreary path for several hours, even the smallest of changes was noticeable and a welcome sight. And still she found nothing.

She was not certain about what she was looking for. Her keen eyes were taking in everything that she saw; if there had been a sign of a disturbance. Maes would not have surrendered willingly; he was an unofficial member of Roy's team, and unfortunately that meant he was as stubborn as the rest of them to work with the colonel. However, if it had been in exchange for the lives of the young Elric brothers, he would have "surrendered". Hawkeye could not see Hughes as the type to surrender that easily.

It was clear that the enemy had taken advantage of Hughes' biggest dedication and weakness. His family. If he was subject to drawing out firearms at his daughter's birthday party being a protective father, what would he have done in this life or death situation? He wouldn't bargain around with the lives of Edward and Alphonse. Hughes was a kind-hearted and warm man. He had endured through Ishval for the mere thought of seeing Gracia on the station platform once again in the distant future.

So he persevered. He had found a way through this nightmare.

Maes Hughes had to have found a way now.

Hawkeye had not noticed that her pace was slowing. Even she, the Hawk's Eye sniper who had become devoid of life the day she had donned the military uniform, was human. She leaned her hand against the side of the tunnel's wall and took a moment to catch her breath. She would give herself a minute. Possibly less. She had journeyed perhaps three or four miles down this passageway; it was definitely a far greater distance than the trip from Turinene to the mansion would have been. As a result, she concluded that these tunnels stretched far beyond the boundaries of the town. Did these tunnels even have limits? They stretched into the beginnings of the countryside by being connected to Viola's mansion. Riza felt her breath hitch- she had taken 7,385 steps. Three or four miles deep in a straight line.

Just how expansive were these tunnels? And how far did they connect?

She was shocked to think how the military had managed to miss this well-kept secret which had been kept underneath their Dog's noses for goodness knows how many years. It was disconcerting. And it was a feat to visibly shake Riza Hawkeye, a demon who walked with human flesh. She could see the crying Ishvalan children now the ones that she had shot in the face but then she had felt too guilty it was _her_ fault they were dead _her fault alone she should have been fucking BRAVE_ and she had buried them on a pathetic mound and wept all night was it enough-

It was never enough.

 _You cannot break apart. Not now. Not like this!_ The lieutenant scolded herself fiercely. She couldn't start weeping. Riza struggled and pushed herself off the wall, setting her body at a pace with a rhythmic motion, just like a pendulum.

7,386…7,387…7,388…

However before she had taken more than several steps, she paused. She had no reason to stop; if she paused then it would increase the chances that she would be unable to carry on. Her body would give up on her despite how much her mind may protest. But how this part of the tunnel, with dripping moisture and cavernous, yawning walls closing in from the sides and above, any different?

Her intuition was crawling with paranoia; it would not settle until her eyes scanned over the wall. And they did. That was when she gasped and stumbled backwards…was it?

No, it definitely was.

Alchemy transmutation marks. Very few people had the gift to be able to wield alchemy, and of those few, even fewer could harness the technical skill to be commissioned as an 'alchemist'. She could count on her hands those alchemists gifted enough to perform a transmutation without leaving any marks that their reaction had taken place. This individual had made a valiant effort to disguise their transmutation, but she was Riza Hawkeye, and her cunning eyes missed nothing.

This alchemist was clearly an amateur. And it was the alchemist who had taken Hughes and returned Ed and Al. The walls here were beginning to widen slightly and the distance was significant enough to demand a rest. Even weary Hawkeye had felt fatigue tingle along her spine.

 _Sleep later,_ she thought drearily.

 _-Will you ever get to fall asleep in a warm bed again? Or will you gain your permanent rest?-_

The darker aspects of her mind were playing their infuriating tricks on her again. Luckily she was too exhausted to care about that. She had more important matters on her mind.

Keeping busy was preventing the insanity from wrapping itself around her brain just like ivy. It ensnared its victim and killed it before it could retaliate.

 _Please be safe,_ she silently pleaded to the members of the team. She assumed that her words were most likely to reach the team as opposed to a deity. But she had to admire the dedication the Ishvalan people had in the god they had named their civilisation and Holy Land after.

She pleaded again and decided that if anyone could hear them and answer, the better; she was desperate. Keep. Them. Safe.

Keep. Them. Breathing.

Riza Hawkeye trembled and she hoped that it was not premonition.

If she had needed a break before the train journey to Turinene, she could only laugh about how exhausted she was. The darkness was a gloomy and dreary place; it was the land of nightmares and eternity. In the daylight she could mark the passage of time as the Sun trudged across the sky. The change from dawn to morning to afternoon to twilight could seem like an arduous one. If she had not slept, she could not wait for the Sun to pass its zenith point in the sky. However, in the night-time there was no change.

She could have been trapped in the darkness for an hour, a day, a week, an eternity. Those boys would have been begging to get a glimpse of something other than artificial light after those timeless six weeks.

Turinene's tunnels really were an evil place.

Now she had a dangerous choice to make.

Where was Fuery when they needed him? A radio set would have been her saviour.

* * *

This was the worst fucking hangover he had had to endure. He had been a heavy drinker in the day, but that had been _in the day._ He had a wife and a kid back at home; these things drained him despite the amount of love that was poured into his family house every day. He had a responsibility when he had made that house his home, a home where his family not just of blood could come, a place where they could be safe and warm.

His head was pounding. He was uncomfortably _hot,_ but he absent-mindedly felt his teeth chattering; his goose bumps were trembling wildly too. So he was cold…? Whether it was his age or lack of practice, Maes Hughes had never experienced this type of hangover before. He rarely had hangovers actually; he could have become a professional if that was the path he had chosen to take.

But his family came first. End of.

The rational part of his mind (which was far _less_ active than Hughes would have liked it to be) slurred and complained about the lack of soft surfaces his back and ass were leaning against. So he had passed out on a surface? Had he fallen to the ground? Hell, was he rotting in an alley somewhere covered in garbage and would he wake up to a stray dog licking his face (apparently this dog had a taste for brandy – could dogs even drink brandy?) and he had failed to show up to work for the next two days?

Yeah…his mind was not being very useful at all.

Raising a hand to literally soothe the tension throbbing away at his skull, he opened an eye. The world was a blurry jumble and the surprising _brightness_ he saw elicited a wince of pain and his eye closed tightly shut again. What he did notice however when his hand moved to rub his eyes was the lack of glasses. He needed those, goddamnit! The thought of contact lenses terrified him; the horror stories of the items becoming lodged in the eye gave him the creeps. But they would have been so much more practical…

Why was he such a fool?

 _Come on, Hughes. This hangover clearly isn't going anywhere. Deal with it!_ his consciousness growled at his splayed body. With his eyes still closed, he grunted. So his mind was beginning to cooperate after all. Even if it didn't particularly want to. He knew it wanted to curl up in that alley and wait there until the bombsite that was his brain called ceasefire and the warring nerve impulses in his brain slowed down to a halt. Life wasn't that sympathetic however.

And it seemed that his body hated him for it as it promptly spewed up his stomach contents. Luckily he was able to shift his neck to avoid the vomit catching all over his clothes.

He must have really had a rough night.

What the hell had he even been doing out? Maes couldn't fathom what would have caused him to drink so excessively and what had caused him to go out? He usually would go to one of his friend's houses to drink or host a small gathering at his own place. It not only saved money (which became a major thought when there were lives depending on you for food and a roof over their heads – not that he ever minded) but he wasn't _that_ Maes Hughes anymore. He could have fun, but how much _fun_ had he had last night?

It would have taken an insane number of drinks for Hughes not to only pass out, but to be in the state that he was in in the aftermath of this hangover period was incomprehensible.

And then he heard a voice.

To say that he was sluggish was an understatement. He groaned as he opened his eyes in that blindingly bright world that his consciousness had returned to. What he would do to slip back into a dreamless void…

"I see you're having trouble adjusting!" a voice that rang like a bell said cheerfully. Maes' ears felt like they were being flailed with whips. The pressure and tingling of sound sent his brain into a painful turmoil. He wanted to curl up and sleep. He wanted to scream and run. Neither of those were an option at present however. His body protested when he moved his hand for fuck's sake. If he tried to shift his entire weight, he was not sure that his brain could handle that pressure.

"Ughhhh… hurts," was the only comprehensible word that could be discerned from the black-haired man's mutterings. Hughes was _not_ in a good state or condition.

"I did give you a shot that was suitable to your age and physique…maybe you're not carrying enough body mass to support my intended dose," the voice muttered, and this time Hughes' ears were being ground together like powder. The sounds rumbled together like miniature storm clouds and Hughes had to suppress a shudder.

This situation was damn crazy. Each second that passed granted his brain more minute relief from the hangover-not-hangover-

Wait.

Oh shit.

What the fuck.

Had he been given a…tranquilliser?

Did he recognise the voice?

"And I did take the fact that you have been under enormous stress recently into consideration…why did you have such an adverse side effect? Were you allergic? Were my calculations wrong? It has been my first time transmuting my equipment…could there have been further substitution of the products?" the man was babbling nonsense.

It was a man who was talking. And it was definitely _not_ a voice that Hughes recognised from his history. However, one fog-bound memory came crawling from the recesses of his mind into the clutches of his figurative self. He grabbed hold of the memory and watched as the events of last night unfolded before his eyes. And he shuddered and tried to rise to his feet. His legs slumped and collapsed underneath him. He forced and pleaded with them to move- they had to move dammit! There was no choice. He needed to get away and warn the others-

There had been no drinking fiasco last night. There had been no reason to have fun and celebrate, especially not when they were waging their own battles with unknown forces that lurked in tunnels deep. Roy, Riza, Ed, Al _they were all in danger._

His heart thudded like the clopping of hooves. His heart thudded like the clopping of hooves of horses. His heart thudded like the clopping of hooves of horses drawing his casket at his funeral procession.

 _He was in danger._

"Are you quite alright, Maes Hughes?" the man asked. Hughes forced open his eyes and saw a hazy image of Kimblee, ghostly and pale in this white light. No obvious features were apparent aside from the flash of pearl teeth, menacingly beautiful.

Hughes pushed his body back against the wall. He fumbled in his pockets for a weapon. His daggers…a gun… _anything._ But they had been stripped from him. Even the one he kept hidden under the sole of his boot (that was the spare for the spare for the spare dagger he usually kept at hand) had been taken away. He felt bare. His hand-to-hand combat wasn't anything outstanding, and in this state, half of his body and the majority of his brain were out of action. Even if this had been a fair fight, there would have been no chances of him winning on his own.

And that was when the silent voice in his head began to hope feverishly. It was a foolish and naïve thought, but the thought of someone coming to rescue him flooded through his body. _No, stop!_ He couldn't have his clueless body falling for this gullible trap.

Would the team be looking for him now?

Had the Elric brothers been returned safely?

Oh Hell, did that mean they were all needlessly worrying about him?

That was one thing that Maes could not stand. _He_ would be the protective father, thank you very much. He was the only member of the team who had children, so that was his excuse. Everybody else could worry about themselves. It was his duty to worry about them. But having them worry pointlessly about him was something he abhorred.

It made him useless.

But he could not forget that this was the man who had bested Edward Elric. If somebody managed that, it was likely to a ploy on the blond's part that would eventually work in his favour, or his younger brother would help him out of a particular situation. This was the man who had left those boys _broken._

He had left them clinging onto faint strings of thread. Those strings were their attachment to this world…to life. They had seen madness and he knew from experience that death would have been a kinder option.

When one lost control of their mind in long lapses…it was terrifying. Not knowing when you would slip. Or how. It was like having a presence at the back of your mind that continuously watched you. Saying nothing. Doing nothing. Until like a tiger it pounced from the undergrowth and dragged you into its clutches, deep in a dark, dark place. And as soon as you emerged from the lapse, the waiting for it to strike again. It was a vicious cycle. It had to be broken without breaking the individual.

 _That_ was the part which was nearly impossible.

This man had been responsible for too much heartache. He thought sourly of the one child who had tried to bully Elicia. This particular girl did not like Elicia's pigtails at nursery. So she had grabbed his daughter's hair and yanked at the bobble holding the pigtail in place. She twisted and held the hair at an angle that it had made Elicia hold her lips tightly together. She didn't scream, but a little stream of tears had fallen down her face.

When asked what she was doing by the teacher, the bully had made a pouting face and started crying herself. It had taken Gracia's entire steadiness to restrain her husband and prevent Maes from telling the child's parents what he had thought of the situation during that damn meeting that was protocol (the children had to apologise to each other in front of their parents – not that Elicia had anything to apologise for).

This man was far more pathetic than Elicia's bully.

"Leave us alone, you piece of shit," he growled under his breath, keeping his voice level and firm.

"You are a lot calmer than Edward," Kimblee said. Maes could see though his squinty vision that the man was scratching his nose.

"You have no possible idea how I am seething inside," he interjected smoothly.

"Human emotion is a peculiar thing," the man started slowly. "I have always been interested in studying human psychology to a greater depth than my medical training covered. Our society is driven by the principle after all. It is both a science and an art. It can be related to the Fifth Element, the soul, which generates alchemy's Philosopher's Stone. And how much power that contains is extraordinary.

"The human soul is truly a tenacious thing."

"You're the one who deserves to be locked in these tunnels," Hughes snapped. He had to bide his time and wait…wait for his brain to stop whirling at the speed of a lightning bolt. Wait for help. Wait for freedom.

Or he could do something.

He wouldn't wait for that cycle to break. He would be the one to _smash_ it to oblivion.

With a silent cry he lunged forward at the man and curled his fists tightly. His aim was the nerve bundle at the top of his leg. Maes made contact with the top of the leg with a sickening crunch but he knew from the moment his skin hit the trouser leg that he had _missed_ because his damn glasses were smashed in a tunnel somewhere.

He was a fucking fool for ruining his one chance of escape.

"Roy Mustang will be here soon. Until then, I'll leave you both alone," Kimblee muttered. His hand touched his leg and there was a flash of bright light (was that alchemy?). The man, healed, turned and left Maes in this bright white room with a resounding _click_ as the door locked behind them.

It would have been a wasted effort if he had thumped a fist against the floor in rage; he needed to remain patient. Logic would be his saviour. Everything he had been taught at the Academy felt like a lie; it was the experience of combat that decided if a soldier was great or not, and if they could think on their feet long enough to stay alive.

As he glanced around, his vision blurry as though he was swimming in the watery hands of the ocean. For as he turned around, he swore that he could see his indistinct reflection. He rested a palm on the surface and realised from the cool touch that it was glass.

And then he saw something else.

It was a mound. A mound of blue and black…and red. A stark contrast it was from the bright white around him.

A mound that was very out of place.

The problem with being a member of Investigations was the unrelenting curiosity that was a fucking bugbear until it had been answered or he had somehow found a way to put his mind to rest. His inquisitive brain was working on overdrive: it connected the shape of the mound to the colours that were mushed up together like something out of stew and was trying to deduce what exactly it was.

If there was injustice in the world, it was his responsibility to try and make it a better place. Especially after Ishval. That was the common motive between the members of Roy's team, after all.

So he shifted towards the peculiar mound, finding his mind begin to detach from his situation to purely _focus_ on the case as it was. He became Lieutenant Colonel Hughes of the Investigations Department at Central HQ.

And then he looked.

He was an officer. He had survived through rounds of interrogation. He was a grown man. He-

 _Couldn't._

Couldn't breathe. Run. No.

Kimblee had pointed out that he would be leaving 'both' of them alone. Hughes was in the room alone.

But. He. Fucking wasn't.

He was the opposite of alone. He was being strangled by his mind oh why the fuck did he have to be so fucking curious why couldn't he have accepted that the world had strange fucking things inside of it?

Maes Hughes slumped forwards and held the mound close to him, and he was weeping and sobbing into his jacket, attempting and failing miserably at muffling his agonised cries.

Why had he been the one to stumble upon sweet Kain Fuery's corpse?

Maes couldn't fucking see clearly, but he knew the young man's brains had been blown to bits. He wanted to turn around and run and pretend that the last 30 seconds had not happened.

Why did it have to be him?

Why…

* * *

The train station was loud and hectic as it always was during the rush hour in the early morning. Havoc yawned and scratched his ears. He had not had a wink of sleep the night before.

After he had been the one to realize that the lieutenant colonel had walked straight into a trap, the Elric brothers had returned with Phillip. Hawkeye and the colonel had returned moments later, and Hawkeye was the one determined to track Hughes.

 _The traitor,_ Jean's mind supplied helpfully.

Why was his mind being so jolly about this? He really needed to sleep for 48 hours and not be disturbed aside from his mother's breakfast and bathroom breaks. He needed to have a gathering with all his friends and family at his ranch home where they would eat an endless banquet. But not now.

As he tossed his chewed cigarette into the bin, Jean longed for that day to come sooner rather than later. That would be a time when everyone would be healthy and safe.

He was brought out of his daydream by a train whistle at the platform he was standing at. The night before, Hawkeye had found the time to call the automail engineer of Ed's. Her name was Winry Rockbell. As a country boy from the East Area who had several friends who had required automail after accidents involving machinery and the harvest, he was familiar with the name. The work of the Rockbells was considered some of the finest in Amestris.

Havoc did not realize that she would have left Hawkeye still on the phone line, packed her items and caught the first train to East City and then exchanged to Turinene. She was stubborn just like the Elric brothers she had spent her childhood with.

The decision for her to come to Turinene was a controversial one. She had heedlessly thrown herself into a dangerous situation, and would arguably be another civilian to defend. However, what the brothers needed was a familiar face.

He recognised the young woman by her blonde hair and massive bag she had slung over her shoulder.

"Lieutenant Havoc?" she asked and when he muttered a quiet affirmative in response, she held out her right hand boldly, "it is a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

"Just call me Havoc," he replied and took the suitcase she was carrying in her other hand. She refused to let go of the heavier bag though, clutching onto it like how a child clung to a toy.

"Ed and Al? Where are those dummies?" she asked, looking over his shoulder to find the brothers. She had not seen them for months. They were still officially missing. Havoc began to think that she had journeyed here so quickly out of desperation and hope. Desperate hope. The two worked well together.

"A lot has happened, Miss Rockbell," he started feeling the tension settle in the stifled air of the train station.

"Where are they?" she cried, her pupils dilating in fear and shock.

"I'll take you to them now...they'll need you, Miss Rockbell," he said. _They'll need all of us now._

* * *

 _A little bit of a longer chapter! I'm glad to have got this finished by the weekend :D Poor Hughes :( he deserves so much better than what he is gets in this chapter._

 _LBYL's plot is going to begin to thicken next chapter...I'm looking forward to writing that._

 _Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed!_


	19. Lights Out

Lights Out

He woke to the silence.

Alphonse had become so accustomed to hearing Ed snoring throughout the night or yell at him when he awoke in vigour to seize the day, and now that he could not hear such simple sounds, his world had become isolated.

He imagined that he was standing on a hilltop with everyone he loved and cared for. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the ground beneath his feet began to tremble ferociously and as a result he had leapt back in shock. The crack was just below his feet. The chasm would widen inch by inch like the gaping jaws of a wild beast. Everyone else was on the other side of the gap, and they were reaching out desperately to reach for him. As soon as Al attempted to grasp out for help (please help me. I can't live like this…please) the rift would tear further apart, the sound similar to ripping cloth. By the time he was prepared to leap, he would be jerked backward by the tectonic power of the ground beneath his feet (a power that alchemists boasted to control when they had the barest concept on the current that roared through the earth like a pulse). He would be forced to scrabble on his side to stay alive. Even if he cried out for help or used alchemy, a force in his mind would prevent him from moving.

It was as if the world planned him to be alone and an unknown force was executing its malicious plan. He could hear laughter as sinister as whispers of ice.

In his dreams sounds gained a new clarity, but the sounds were beginning to become jumbled and muffled, as if he was listening to the outside world from within a deep ocean. He knew intuitively that he was going to forget a life of not being deaf. Already he was beginning to forget how beautiful his mother's lullabies sounded; he was forgetting the sound of frying, crackling bacon in the pan; the _whoosh_ and whistle of a train pulling away from a platform. And he was forgetting Brother. His voice. His personality. His antics.

The three were rolled into one. A tone and voice was something special. When you spoke every day and took that gift for granted, you could push aside the importance it is at defining you as an individual. There were other ways to communicate, he knew, but since he did not know sign language, Alphonse was temporarily lost.

The mind worked quickly against its opponent. And it would strive to do its best to win.

He had been in a semi-conscious state between being asleep and awake. Even so, he didn't have control over his mind or dreams. Otherwise he would have raced across the chasm and grasped Brother and Winry with all the strength he had in his feeble body. He wouldn't let them go.

He didn't want to be left alone with Kimblee on the other side.

Suddenly, he flinched. Somebody was shaking his shoulder and he was thrown back into a flashback-

 _He had become accustomed to the rhythmic_ drip drip drip _from the ceiling that fell into the puddles that were littered throughout their filthy cell. Alphonse could not have been sure how much time had passed, although he suspected less than three days._

 _When one was trapped in the darkness (and sleep was a scare – he avoided it until it was impossible to resist falling into its clutches) the passage of time ceased to exist. He lost count of the thrumming beat of his heart and staggered breathing._

 _Alphonse had been separated from his big brother for the first time since they had ended up trapped in the gloom. NoName had been muttering something about 'phases' and despite the jolly persona the man possessed, he was a madman. He reminded Al of Shou Tucker in parts; the smiling face he saw hid an assassin's greed and lust for power._

 _If he retaliated or acted, they would have hurt Ed. Even if he had only seen Kimblee in person and a few of his guards, Al could hear whispers from the shadowy corners of his cell, and from the room he was currently being held in. They would snicker and laugh and judge him, as though he was a young child on the stage for the first time, watching as the parents talked quietly amongst themselves. Al couldn't discern what these whispers were saying, but he kept his back straight and guard wary. The bags beneath his eyes carried a weight of their own and the clarity was seeping out of his mind like a crack in a wall, but he had to keep going. He had to keep trying his best to stay awake and lucid. He feared that if he became too complacent, Ed would suffer._

 _But if he retaliated then the same fate was set for his big brother. Al had been placed in a delicate situation and one wrong mistake could shake the balance between life and death, between the gloom and freedom. He desperately wanted to feel the light again._

 _A door creaked. Teeth gleamed. A whistle of delight followed. The bastard had returned. NoName must have been bored muttering to himself about his plans._

 _"Alphonse, thank you so much for agreeing to help me! Your support will be invaluable for this experiment," the man shrilled in glee as he pulled a loose strand of hair back behind his ears. His wrist clicked as he closed the door behind him. And then he turned back to face the younger Elric brother, his eyes unusually bright. They shone with inquisitiveness and optimism, but there was so much more sinister emotions brooding underneath like a storm surge._

 _With NoName, one could expect a conversation with a jolly, friendly man or they could be receiving what Al was about to. It was like expecting gentle snow and instead receiving sharp hail that could pierce through ice._

 _How could someone so evil appear so harmless?_

 _"As long as you don't harm my brother," Al threatened, but his voice was lost as NoName dimmed the already-flickering artificial light that this room possessed (their cell certainly did not)._

 _"Do not worry, my friend. This shall be quick," NoName paused and the lights went out and Al was thrown into a nightmare._

 _He was completely thrown off-guard when he heard the screaming of his childhood friend, Winry, piercing through the darkness like a mortal blade to his heart. Alphonse threw his arms out protectively, seeking and searching for the source of the cries in the hope to avail her suffering. She didn't scream distinctive words, but her tone was one of lancing pain throughout her soul. And then added to the cacophony came the cries of people he knew…people he loved…They were wailing for his help but he couldn't save one of them, let alone the dozens of voices that had collected. He thought that his brain was going to burst._

 _It was when he listened and Ed and his mother's voice joined the chorus that he started to scream. He had told himself that he had to be the strong one, and even though out of the Elric brother duo, he was the softer-spoken one, Al did the best he could to remain strong. For Brother. For Granny, Teacher and Winry. For himself._

 _For Mother._

 _Al could hear her bitter sonorous cries that rang as if Trisha was trapped within his suit of armour when he did not possess his real body. She was in agony. She cried to him. She asked him questions and he could give her no answer._

Why did you bring me back to life, Alphonse?

My sweet boy…do you know how much death hurts once?

Alphonse…please…save me…

It hurts. It HURTS!

 _And Al couldn't. He fell to the floor and stumbled and choked. He groped loosely on the ground for Ed's hand. His mother's hand. A hand to hold that he could comfort._

 _He felt as if he was back in that basement when they had performed the human transmutation. The malformed resurrection of his mother cried out blindly for her sons and then she had died. The thing that was his mother had died. And it was in agony because of him._

 _He had been responsible for turning his mother into a monster, so that she was no longer a human._

 _Alphonse screamed, and NoName collected the results he had desperately been searching for. The doctor had finally required a means to accessing the harnessed alchemist's power in the most effective form: a combination of mental and physical torment. But majorly the former._

 _He never woke up…_

…

"Ahhh!" he screamed hoarsely, his throat dry and sore from the effort. He could feel his vocal cords tingle in dismay, but the process of not being able to hear his voice was chilling to witness. He was panting and tried to protect his chest from an attack by curling into a ball. Al had to protect his big brother from Kimblee. Out on their journeys there were people to help them, and whenever they returned home. However, they were trapped in the tunnels together. It was just the two of them. And they couldn't depend upon anyone to save them…that was the reason why he had to protect his big brother.

Why couldn't he stop their screaming?

Was he too weak to do anything?

He raised his head in alarm and he could see that somebody was tapping the ground softly in front of him with a hand. Al could feel its vibrations. When he lifted his gaze, his squinty eyes struggled to adjust to the bright light of the morning.

Oh. They weren't in the tunnels. They were safe. They were safe at his cloud refuge!

The owner of the hand moved closer to him and Al could feel his heart break inside of his chest. He didn't flinch as a pair of gentle arms wrapped around his back, caressing him close, holding him tightly but not enough so that it would hurt him. The menacing thoughts that swirled around in his head as vicious as a storm melted into the nothing (the darkness where they came from). Tears rolled down his face, tumbling, and he made no move to wipe them away because he had been strong for so long and now he was safe.

Winry held onto him all the tighter.

* * *

The scribbling of his sketchbook was all that could be heard on the train. Despite the warm summer's day that was promised ahead, the compartment that he was on remained in an obligatory silence, since this was the military personnel's carriage. These were the carriages that took men off to war (and their final resting places).

Alex Louis Armstrong coughed at the worrying thought and gripped onto the pencil in his beefy hands a little tighter. He squinted at the musty piece of paper that he was basing his sketch off. Yes, the details were perfectly accurate.

The skill of tracing was one that had been passed down the Armstrong family for generations.

Major Armstrong knew that the train would be arriving at its destination soon; he had little time left to wait. Even he, an Armstrong raised by his family to be a model of patience and stature, the offspring of noble blood, found his own brew welding thin. He detested the churning of the wheels on the train. He wished that he could leap of the train and sprint the remaining leagues before the train rolled up to Turinene. However, the blond busied himself by pulling out a comb and mirror from his hand luggage and working at ensuring his curl and moustache were impeccable.

How could he dare present himself to the other members of the team looking any less pristine?

In a crisis, he would be the one to remind others on the importance of presentation. He paused for a moment; for he swore he could hear the twinkling of sparkles ringing around his head, next to his ears. His imagination must have been running wild. That was no surprise- his great-uncle Edmund Laurence Armstrong had been a famous novelist with an imagination as creative as a chef's palette (Alex had dabbled both into these creative arts, although he found that art and sketches was his particular forte).

He inspected his handwork in the portable mirror which was his firm companion. He nodded in contentment. His uniform was ironed and prepared for battle on the front lines. His attire was that of a major of the Amestrian military. However, it was not _him_ who was the most important thing here.

During his grooming session, he had kept a firm grip on that piece of paper. He had been strolling to the canteen for lunch when he had bumped into Sheska. The Major had heard of her from previous encounters that the Elric brothers and some members of Mustang's team had had with her. He had mentioned the word Turinene to her quietly to see if that would elicit a response from the private. She had blinked and informed Alex that she had 'read a little' on the mappings and history of Turinene.

The woman was a genius- she had reproduced a flawless copy of the maps of Turinene and also of a secret, expansive network of tunnels that rested beneath the town. That map had been found in the restricted section, according to her sources. And Armstrong trusted her photographic memory. Intuition was a knack that his bloodline had mastered, dating back to the days when his great-great grandfather, a certain Norman Henry Armstrong had been out hunting in the woods stranded-

However, as he snapped out of his respectful reverie, the Major found that they had rolled up into the station of Turinene. He quickly grabbed his suitcase and leaped off the train with bouncing muscles prepared for the swift movement. As a burst of fresh air swept through his lungs, the desire to rip off his shirt was overwhelming, but alas, he had packed insufficient spares for that to be feasible.

"Hello, good Sir!" he called out cheerfully to a train conductor. His form should have been instantly recognisable- there was an Armstrong in this town.

"Oh, hello there, Major," the train conductor standing on the platform hopped on the spot nervously; his hands were twitching and his hair was poorly kept. His brown eyes flitted nervously between Alex and the carriage door, as if expecting to see someone else emerge. "Is it just you who they are sending out?"

"What has happened, my good friend?" the blond asked gently, but with a probing enough tone. He needed to deliver the importance of this matter in his voice otherwise he could be delayed longer than was necessary. His heart began thumping slightly. As he glanced around the station behind the nervous man, he could see that the train station was oddly quiet; the patrons didn't shove or bustle as they usually did, but they mulled around each other, avoiding eye contact and held their heads low. This was a town on edge- this was a town gripped by fear of the unknown.

"There was an unexpected attack not too long ago…" the man paused, but Alex nodded encouragingly, helping the young man to continue with his recollection. "I was asleep when me Ma let out a shriek. I hurried to her side, of course, and I was half-asleep, but Mister I know what I heard and saw through the window. There was fighting! Outside that old hospital where the scary doctor-lady lives. We've been waiting for the military to get here. We've been scared out of our socks…"

And the man started to laugh quietly to himself. He quickly caught his breath and looked up at the Major.

"I see. You were expecting more than me to arrive here today then, hmm?" Alex asked, but the question was posed more to himself, "have you seen other soldiers here recently?"

"Yessir, they were in the Plaza, but I don't know what they were here for. There were too few of them to be involved in the fighting…" the man stumbled uneasily.

 _An attack! Good heavens! What have the team got themselves into? If Viola Cadence Armstrong was under siege, she would know what to do. She must have summoned the troops that have pledged their alliance to the Armstrong family. Their entrance into Turinene could easily be kept a secret with her strategic planning._ The Major was proud of his relative in the way that an Armstrong was proud about their legacy.

"But you have not received support from the Eastern Command, have you?" Armstrong asked. The man shook his head. "Why were the military not involved? I did not know about this until now," the blond confessed. The conductor's eyes widened in hasty surprise.

"What does that mean, Sir?" the brown-eyed man who had barely grown out of boyhood asked.

"There is someone hiding something…this, my friend, is a conspiracy," the Major announced dramatically. He thanked the train conductor for his help and the man hurried off determinedly towards the Armstrong mansion on the outskirts of town. He pressed against his pocket and felt the paper and his sketchbook securely bound by thread. His mind pondered through the baffling scenarios that directly involved this town.

There was a map of Turinene's tunnels being hidden from the population, hidden in the restricted section of the library…

Young Edward and Alphonse Elric being captured in a quiet eastern town…

An _attack_ on a hospital…

Something _definitely_ was happening, and as his pride as an Armstrong, Alex Louis swore that he would uncover the secrets lurking in this place, sooner rather than later.

* * *

Hawkeye was relieved to say the least.

This latest piece of information of a _complete_ network of the tunnels of Turinene was a godsend at this troubling hour. There was little time left. She yearned to dive back into the vast catacomb-like network that expanded below the town and find the missing members of the team and be done with this place. She would return to her apartment with Black Hayate, and with the limited culinary skills she had collected over the years, she would host a dinner party for the team. Thinking logistically about the size of her kitchen, she shook her head; it would be best if they just had a meal out.

Her mind was wandering. However, this tangent was for a positive reason and therefore she did not try to prevent her brain from treading down such paths of thought. If she wanted to do that, then she would. She had learnt that life was too short to carry on through with hesitations and doubt – she had to take the initiative and _live._

Riza stared at the map once again. She had poured over its contents and deduced several key points of entry into the lair of that madman. The mission could be over in a couple of hours-

Fuck, it wasn't going to be as easy as that. What the hell was she thinking?

How could she have been so pathetically _weak_ against a ridiculous alchemist, when it was her job to babysit one? Said superior officer finally had a bloody cast on his leg, and he had been given crutches which allowed him to move with a freakishly deadly speed. He had even experimented with using a single crutch and somehow the man hadn't toppled over headfirst (Hawkeye could make a considerable amount of money by having that on display). But he was Roy Mustang, who frequently did the impossible.

By this point, Riza had learnt to accept the antics of her colonel.

She turned around to hear two voices in very deep conversation. Edward had clearly become a lot more vocal with the presence of his mechanic nearby. That boy's mood was as variable as the weather on a springtime's day- one moment, the sky could be silent and sullen, but the next it could be bright and vibrant and full of wonderful hues. The Lieutenant couldn't pinpoint the boy's personality with words anymore. Ever since his capture, the boy had become far more complex, withdrawn and enigmatic than the fiery hothead that had been replaced with this young man. But as she watched him bicker with Winry, she felt more at ease. Their Edward hadn't disappeared- he could become lost sometimes.

But they would be there to guide him back.

"I told you, I am not going!" the alchemist shouted, his unseeing eyes clamped tightly shut, as if to exude his stubbornness.

"You're completely wrecked, just like Al was when you thought it would be a good idea to give his armoured limbs a more 'cool' appearance!" Winry retorted back.

"I'm not going," the blond snorted and folded his good arm, wincing quietly under his breath.

"I don't have the equipment with me here that would be able to fix your ports. You need to come back to Resembool. You know Granny and I are trained to help treating concerning the infections of automail-related injuries…I cannot let you tarnish the Rockbell name!" she cried adamantly.

Edward then opened his hazy straw-like eyes and gazed out into the distance. Even if he was blind, he could clearly see something nobody else could. "I'm sorry, Win. I cannot go."

"Why, Ed?" she asked softly. She lowered the wrench in her hand and sank onto the floor beside her childhood friend.

"Lift up my shirt," he commanded.

"Ew, no. You can do that."

He repeated the order. It was not a request.

Sighing, she did as the boy had said. She had only seen the extent of damage to his leg port. Ed had said that his arm was in the same condition, but had refused to let Winry see it until now. The mechanic unbuttoned the shirt that Edward had slipped on and the boy suddenly let out a shrill scream as if the lights had suddenly been extinguished.

"NOOOO!" Ed howled. His body writhed and contorted. He curled in on himself. But he raised his head, bit his lip, blood flowing freely.

"Ed?!"

"Keep going…sorry…happens a lot…please, Win," he choked and begged. Winry was then able to finish what she started, careful not to hurt the elder Elric brother. But Riza could see from his expression that the simple act of taking off a shirt was the definition of agony for the young man. She had perfected her disguise as well. The more people that _saw_ you, the more vulnerable you would become. Life was about looking the image of a predator, but knowing and hating the vulnerability to clutched at your heart, which made you prey.

She gasped. While the infection had been stabilised, it was not healing. The boy's entire right side and torso was riddled with bruising, wires, pus and scabbing skin that looked like an insect-infested corpse. It was a feat that the boy was still alive. But that was their Edward. Stubborn, short-tempered and wonderfully, beautifully brave.

"I cannot go to Resembool with you, Win," he was silent for a moment before he continued, "I can't think of anything worse than staying here. I want to get away from this shithole. I want to fucking hobble on one leg and sprint out of here. I want to see Granny and eat apple pie at home. But _I can't._

"They hurt Al. They've hurt so many people…Kimblee…NoName…no don't Fuery come on Ed fucking do something you pathetic lump of shit NO NOT YOU TOO GET OUT OF MY HEAD PLEASE…"

A nurse had to rush forward to tranquilise the boy. The girl was left shivering.

Riza had paused on her work to watch the couple bicker. She wouldn't leave Winry now.

She wandered over, and Winry glanced up at her with tears in her eyes. Riza found herself speaking: "it may not seem like it, but Ed is making excellent progress. He has more than an infection to fight right now. And it will be hard, but he will get better. He will."

Riza wondered if she was reassuring herself or Miss Rockbell.

She held out her clean handkerchief that the younger blonde accepted gratefully, dabbing her eyes.

"I'll clean this for you and give it back as soon as I can," Winry began but she was interrupted when Riza shook her head and gestured at the handkerchief and Winry. The mechanic nodded in thanks and went to sit between the sleeping Elric brothers, guarding them with all her strength and might.

A tap on her shoulder diverted Riza's attention _again._ She was prepared to snap but she kept her composure when one of the maids bowed her head low.

"Miss Hawkeye, my mistress requires your attention immediately," she said.

"Do you know what the matter is…"

"Heidi, Miss Hawkeye. My mistress informed me to tell you that there is a Mr Solf J. Kimblee waiting to see you…he has a proposition to make with you."

* * *

 _Plot twist! A lot is happening, and a lot more is going to happen. Those Kimblee brothers cannot stay out of mischief... now before I go blurting spoilers, I'll thank you for your patience and for reading. Hope you enjoyed!_


	20. Inertia

Warning: gory details in this chapter. Read with caution!

* * *

Inertia

A long time ago, there were two boys. Anybody in the town could tell that they were brothers from a distance, even if they each had distinct personalities. Both of them would run and play in the fields from sunrise until sunset, in those yellow fields full of buttercups in the early summer. They kept on playing the same games day in, day out, as if it was clear that there was never one winner. Those brothers could have been twins.

They were close in age gap, possibly one or a couple of years between them. They had grown up together and would have been inseparable…

…Or so the world would have thought.

The older of the brothers was a talented alchemist, one of the most talented that the townspeople had ever seen before; he could repair buildings with a quick sketch of a transmutation circle. He was adored and his parents promised that he could become a State Alchemist when he was grown up.

The younger brother was confused by this.

Einar chased after Solf day after day across the fields full of buttercups. He copied exactly what his older brother did. He learnt to sketch the arrays to possibly a higher degree of accuracy than Solf could. Einar was precious and dexterous and he understood the scientific equations. He was as good as his big brother, if not better. No, he wanted to be the best alchemist that the world had seen!

"You are not an alchemist," his brother sneered at him. They had made it home for supper. Their mother ushered them into the house and quickly hurried them to the dining room table where their father was waiting for his family.

"I will be a better alchemist than you!" the boy snarled back. He gulped; he realized his mistake as soon as he had shouted at his brother.

His father stood up, unimpressed by the rash behaviour of his younger son.

"Einar," he said.

"Yes, father?" Einar's ashen face stared at the floor, ashamed to look up.

"You will not insult Solf that way," James Kimblee announced harshly and he sat down abruptly. "Will you pass me the ham?"

Solf silently passed the ham to their father and he subtly kicked his brother under the table.

"I hate you!" Einar screamed and his blue eyes shone darkly as he leaped down from the table. He had the chalk in his hand before anyone could react. He sketched a transmutation circle, focusing his energy into ensuring his grip on the chalk was not shaky. He sniffled and refused to cry. With a heavy breath he slapped his palms onto the array, envisaging the molecules moving… _transmuting_ … rearranging themselves into a structure that could punch his older brother. Not with much force to hurt him. But enough to get his message across.

Nothing happened.

His mother sighed and lifted Einar off the ground. He wriggled in protest. He wasn't a young boy anymore! In a couple of years he would be taller than her and if he _really_ grew in that time period, then he could end up being the same height as his father. He wanted to be someone that they respected. Somebody that they didn't ignore.

He didn't spend his nights reading scientific textbooks (mainly about alchemy) and gently crying himself to sleep for no reason.

"You are not an alchemist, Einar," his mother said simply. And like that, the young boy's world came crashing down. He knew that his parents had been delighted by the fact that their older son was an alchemist. That their older son had been born with the potential to be brilliant.

Couldn't he too…if he worked for it?

 _-Imagine that.-_ A voice in the younger Kimblee brother's head muttered acidly.

"You know your future is going to belong in the medical profession. You are a talented scientist, Einar, and you will use that strength to treat people and become a doctor," his father stated, his entire future handed to him on a plate, much like the untouched dinner that rested in front of him.

He tried to stifle back tears, feeling his heart threaten to choke and suffocate him. It was a useless throbbing mesh in his throat.

 _-You will never be who you dream of becoming.-_

 _-Give it up. Your older brother is your superior._ He _is the one that your parents love.-_

 _Please,_ he begged silently, _please let me be who I want to be._

"Mother…" the boy's voice trailed off as his mother blatantly ignored him. He shivered profusely and poked a fork into his mash potato, but he couldn't find the strength to swallow the lump. The meal had gone cold too. He should have tried harder. He should have pushed with more of his mind and spirit to activate that array.

He should have been the one born to be an alchemist!

Einar turned to face his brother, finding that throughout the course of this predicament, his older brother had been eating his dinner quietly. He folded his cutlery and let them rest on the table.

"You are nobody to me," Solf muttered, and from that day, it was like the younger Kimblee brother did not exist.

* * *

Roy refused to be put under.

He couldn't be out of action while his team fought his battles. With a broken body or not, he would fight until Fuery and Hughes were safe where they belonged.

He could imagine the crying of Hughes' little daughter Elicia at the news that her daddy was missing, but Gracia would bravely smile and then Elicia would giggle and smile, lost in a childhood fantasy. How Roy wished that life could be that simple for adults too.

But life was complicated or a bastard. Usually a combination of both.

Roy knew something else that was being a bastard at that moment. His leg was throbbing horribly. The unnecessary (he kept telling the doctors that it was fucking necessary) actions he had taken had not helped the injury. Anybody else with a wound of this severity would have been bound for weeks to a hospital bed.

How could he possibly rest?

He had reluctantly taken the painkillers, but not the mild anaesthetic that would provide him with a rhythmic and uninterrupted sleep. Roy hadn't really been given a choice, but he had shoved the medication under his tongue and spat it out while the doctors were not looking. Hawkeye was more than competent to handle the workload, but he was their commander. Therefore, he saw it as his responsibility to remain goddamn conscious while his best friend was missing in the expansive tunnels crawling beneath their feet like a string of graves-

 _Don't think. Move forward. No more._

Inhaling a deep breath and feeling his chest rise painfully, Roy let the breath and the tension that had hitherto been crawling through his skin subside a little. A little. The adrenaline would help keep him alert and awake. He had gone days without sleep before (Ishval _IshvalIshval HELL)_ and so he could do the same thing again.

He was stubborn and willing to admit it.

The medical environment had never suited him. He didn't have the patience to complete paperwork goddammit.

Shaking his head, he focused his mind on the present task at hand. The good thing about being bedbound (ha no he fucking wouldn't be) was that the Armstrong staff that bustled by fed him something far more fulfilling than bloody analgesics they were attempting to flood him with: gossip. An alchemist's mind never rested. It was like having an itch inside that he couldn't reach no matter how hard he tried to dispel the feeling. The best way to overcome that inch was to distract himself with information-seeking. And wasn't gossip just a form of that?

Mustang smirked. And people assumed that he went on dates just to escape the office.

The Flame Alchemist was a proud and arrogant arsehole, there was no doubt about that even when his own body was betraying his ambitions to rise up.

He was not going to let the lieutenant fight all of his battles for him. No, they were the team's battles. Since they had sworn to follow him, they had moved as one unit. One united front, even if they were separated. As long as they did not forget that fundamental law, then they would survive.

There was a conveniently placed wheelchair beside his bed. Mustang had stared at the object when he had first taken his painkillers and huffed in displeasure about the thought of being vulnerable. For a random (but very attractive) nurse to wheel him around the hospital while he was on a high dose of painkillers would have been his ideal heaven. But he was alive.

He would have to wait a long time for his farfetched dreams to come to play.

Imagine that.

However, Roy's plan was to take advantage of the distracted staff. The commotion of the Crimson Alchemist's appearance at Armstrong's hospital had not gone unnoticed. The staff had been told to keep quiet, but the hubbub suggested otherwise. They were not all soldiers and lacked the discipline to know when to keep their mouths shut.

When a couple of orderlies had walked by gossiping quietly and the words 'Mustang' and 'Kimblee' had been used, his interest piqued.

He struggled to shift his torso around so his legs were hanging over the bed. His injured leg, now bound by a cast, writhed like a tortured snake from beneath the cast. It was as if his blood vessels were coiling in disgust at the thought of having to vacate the hospital bed. And the next twenty seconds felt like twenty years of being flayed alive as he hoisted his body over the side of the bed.

Almost there…

Roy slumped back in the wheelchair, panting and chastising himself at becoming exhausted by such a simple effort. Back at the academy, he had been forced to carry out target practice and a run across the military's training ground before he had eaten breakfast. A soldier always had to be prepared for the worse.

Some years had passed since he had qualified as a State Alchemist, but not too many to lose count.

Mustang was not _old._

Allowing himself a moment to recover, Roy pushed forwards and the wheelchair almost came to life and shot past the orderlies before his absence would be noticed. He could have been more tactical, but he had a conversation to snoop on.

He currently knew as much as the orderlies did: the Crimson Alchemist had come 'in peace' and requested to speak to Viola Cadence, and possibly the Flame Alchemist as well. But Hawkeye had taken his place. Roy must have been incoherent and coming into and out of consciousness. He was surprised that Hawkeye had gone through with the plan, but she knew how they operated. All he heard, she heard too. And now the opposite was true too.

Viola had an office on the ground floor (luckily) which is where she held her meetings. There was no exception to this one. As he gazed sharply from the left to the right, he quickly wheeled across the last corridor before he pulled himself into the adjacent room to where he could hear quiet conversation. He shut the door behind him and carefully positioned himself next to the wall, his ear pressing lightly against the white paint.

He didn't have to wait long.

"I would never have thought an Armstrong would have taken the role of a doctor in a shabby town in the East Area," Kimblee mused sourly, his bored tone evidently trying to disguise his interest.

"The skills and choices of the Armstrongs are features known to our family. I am sure as one acquainted with our family, you would be familiar with that. One favourite family motto is 'mould that which will be shaped' and I took those words to heart," Armstrong declared proudly.

"Of course, doctor," Kimblee said calmly. He spoke a little louder and the direction of his voice changed, "I wonder what you're thinking over there, Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

There was no reply. And then a sigh.

"Oh, are you worried about the cherished Flame Alchemist?" Kimblee sounded far too interest. Roy had an affinity of hate towards the man anyway, and the desire to transmute a hole in the wall and restrain him was overwhelming. But he could not do that.

Instead, Hawkeye chose to address Viola, "Has Ingrid checked on him this past hour?"

"She is one of our best, Hawkeye. Now, we should all skip any additional pleasantries and discuss business."

"Davids was sent out to scout and has returned to say that all of the troops had evacuated just as the Major informed us," Hawkeye stated reluctantly.

"I came here peacefully, and I hope this proves my claim," the man said smugly. Damn Roy wanted to _burn him_ -

"We'll see about that. And I would like to hear Mustang's opinion when this meeting had adjourned," Armstrong sourly muttered. Like Olivier, she was not a conversationalist. Her outburst about the pride of the Armstrong family was unusual for her.

"I will speak to Ingrid afterwards, to ensure that the colonel is in a position to hear your negotiation," the lieutenant said flatly. She was trying to lace the concern out of her voice. It worked perfectly; she had had years to master that neutral tone that many were terrified of.

Kimblee did not sound fazed.

"The trouble is, we have problems to attend to _now_ ," he said abruptly.

There was a long silence. It appeared that everyone was thinking and weighing out their options carefully before they voiced their thoughts.

"I wonder if that was a motive for the senior staff to release you from your sentence, Crimson," Viola retorted, "however, that is not my concern. The fact that your troops attacked a hospital is unforgiveable. Would you be so kind as to explain?"

"Well, you see, I had reason to believe that you were sheltering a hostile individual beneath your walls," the alchemist did not disguise the languidness in his voice. "However, when the retaliation we expected did not come, it would have been pointless to continue the fight."

"This hostile individual…have they been situated in Turinene-"

"For a long time? Yes. And I saw the Elric brothers. It was clear from the moment I met them that they were the objects of his methods," Kimblee pondered. He must have thought that the Elric brothers looked pathetic; however, if he had been introduced to them under different circumstances he could have truly _seen_ them both.

They shouldn't be stared at with the eyes of mourners for all that had been robbed from the young boys, like fucking mourners.

Edward and Alphonse needed to move forward. Somehow.

Roy had to return his attention to the conversation. He could become distracted so easily…especially when he was in constant pain (stretch bend rip crackle his leg had been shredded to pieces would he ever walk correctly again).

"Who is he?" the doctor questioned.

Roy could imagine Kimblee shrugging his shoulders. "Officially, he is a doctor, just like you. He renounced that title however. He now obsesses in becoming an artificial alchemist. Instead of learning the craft, he wants to manipulate the ability alchemists possess and harness that for himself.

"That bastard was my brother once."

A second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The internal gasps never made their way to the surface.

"Is the power he receives relative to the skill of the alchemist?" Hawkeye asked. She was competent enough in the field without having the ability to wield alchemy herself. She had grown with the art long before children held their first pen.

"Possibly. There is little more I know than you," Kimblee replied.

Roy found that his jaw was tightened and he made an effort to relax his body. Years of training had enabled him to maintain his composure. However, when his youngest subordinate had been tortured all in the aim of granting a fanatic the ability to perform alchemy, he was struggling immensely to bury the anger rising throughout his soul.

"We must find and eliminate this alchemist," Viola announced. Her tone was hard and it reminded Roy of somebody-

"Major General Olivier is a relative of yours," Hawkeye answered Roy's questioning thoughts. _That_ was who she reminded her of. The witch that ruled from her domain at Briggs, subduing her soldiers with her poisonous magic…

"That would be easier said than done. First however, we will need to have all of the alchemists restored to full strength. Luckily for me, I brought my own guest. Tim Marcoh

"The Tim Marcoh is here?" Hawkeye could not fully hide her desperation. She coughed.

Roy recognised that signal. It was the end of a code. He backtracked through the meeting and pieced together the code quickly, considering it was short. He took the first letters of the names she had said:

I-D-I-O-T-M.

Idiot Mustang.

Damn Hawkeye for being so subtle. But he smirked. She had planned that he was listening. Good.

And with Tim Marcoh present, things were going to get interesting.

Roy knew him well. He was an alchemic doctor from the Civil War. It was claimed that he could treat wounds that would take months to heal in a matter of minutes. He could finally get off his ass and hurry down those tunnels and hunt down that bastard Kimblee and find Hughes and Fuery and make the world _pay_ for crossing paths with the Flame Alchemist, Colonel Roy Mustang.

He was fed up with being so useless.

* * *

What time was it?

He wasn't sure.

Hell, he wasn't sure about anything anymore.

Who was going to say that Elicia and Gracia and Roy and Hawkeye and Havoc and everyone were all dead too?

He was tired.

He wanted to rest and forget.

Why on fucking earth did it have to be him?

Maes Hughes was sobbing. He had curled himself into an uncomfortable ball and of course it was fucking awkward and his legs were aching because of the goddamn pins and needles. He was hungry and dehydrated and the room was spinning but he didn't care. He remained crouched in that position and he would for a long time yet while he carried out his silent vigil.

He didn't want to be interrupted by anyone.

But he didn't want to be alone with a corpse. It made Maes frightened that he was living a lie…and that he too was already dead.

What was Elicia going to do? She was three years old and loved her father to pieces. But she would forget him and he was selfish to want her to have him occupy her thoughts. He loved her so much…that was why…he wanted her to remember him.

Was he alive?

A part of his mind was screaming. Yes he was! He had to run and escape out of here and find Roy and inform the colonel about what was happening (even though he knew nothing because he was worthless). He had a beating heart and breathing lungs and a brain that could think and legs that could _move._

He was desperate to get away from this room. He knew that it would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. But there was no escaping from the truth. It had run him down and swallowed Maes into its depths, like sinking sand. He had hoped and silently prayed that Kain would be alright. However, the truth thought otherwise.

Every higher power was mocking him now.

He couldn't give a shit.

"Sergeant, why did it have to be you?" Maes choked and clasped the cold hand a little tighter. He waited for the reaffirming grip, but nothing came. He sat there is silence for a few moments more before the door opened to the room.

"Are you keeping our guest company?" the man spoke joyfully. But Maes could feel his skull throbbing and before he knew it he was standing on his feet protectively, hiding Fuery from this bastard's view.

"Don't you dare…talk to him," Maes spat. His fingers curled, as if becoming claws. And then he slumped to his knees again. "We took so long, so long. I can't make it up to you, Kain."

The doctor came up behind Mae's left side and squeezed Hughes firmly on the shoulder. "His death was not in vain. He has unlocked something brilliant."

Maes grabbed the man's hand with his own weak grip and he was prepared to break some bones. He stopped himself. In the distance, he could see the outline of Fuery. It was clearer than his eyesight when he tried on new glasses. Thinking about it, he wasn't wearing any glasses. How was the image of Fuery so clear?

The younger man walked up to him and lifted his hand and brought it back down to his side. Of course. Fuery hated unnecessary violence. And Maes would not waste energy on a pathetic piece of shit that was mocking _mocking_ MOCKING him-

His hands were shaking. Through his streaming tears, Maes watched Fuery smile. Hughes sniffled.

He had to respect Fuery's wish. He couldn't attack the madman.

"I've seen enough. But I'm sure there's more to see, isn't there?" Maes kept his hand firmly by his side. No matter how much he might be angered, he wouldn't. He would have to be the bigger person.

Even if he desperately wanted to break this man's jaw. At the moment, nothing could quash his grief apart from Fuery's ghostly appearance.

Hughes would never be able to justify why the pacifist Sergeant Kain Fuery had to die.

"Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, you are ever the detective," NoName madmen doctor killer _Kimblee_ muttered. "Unfortunately, I cannot spoil the surprise before Phase III is ready.

"However, I can show you what your dear colleague contributed to the cause."

The man grabbed a piece of chalk from his pocket and sketched a transmutation circle onto the wall. Transmutation sparks flared. The room was lit for a moment and the surface of the wall shifted and moved until there was a hole. Within there was a strange apparatus with knobs and dials that Maes did not recognise. The main piece of equipment looked familiar…

He gasped. Fuery's radio.

"You bastard, Kimblee," Maes said falsely, the pleasant tone laced with poisonous spite.

"But I will tell you what happened to Einar Kimblee," the man smiled and transmuted the hole closed.

Hughes did not reply, but swallowed the bile rising in his throat and glared at the man with artificial light beaming around him, like a sickly halo.

"There was a boy. He wanted to make people smile. But his future was designed for him the day he was born. He was going to be a doctor. His older brother ignored him and his family despised him," Kimblee began.

"Roy never knew his parents," Maes interjected.

"There's always more to a story though," and the man's smile widened into a horrifically twisted grin. He looked dead, more dead than (oh god don't think about it).

"He was sold to the whores and beggars on the street when he refused to enrol to medical school. He lived in the sewers and his friends were vermin. Rats, piss and shit.

"There was a fire at the house where he grew up. The town went up in flames. He ran home, despite being dumped on Hell's doorstep. Parents were dead. Neighbours. The older Kimblee brother heroically helped to quash the flames, and the younger was convicted for arson and murder."

The man stared into Maes' eyes. There were no lies hidden here: "I returned home before. I thought I could apologise and show her my enrolment form for medical school… I saw Solf stab Mother's guts through the window and chuck her innards onto the fire for fuel, where Father's were rotting already. And I was convicted.

"But I ran and learnt from the shadows and studied biology and alchemy. I had the answers. I confronted the bastard of my blood and do you know what he said to me? 'You had some guts to come here, Roy Mustang'.

"To him, I had no name."

Maes was shaking as suddenly, the lights dimmed. Lazily, they flickered on and off before all went black.

* * *

Pinako Rockbell shrugged her aching shoulders and attempted to adjust her position on the uncomfortable seat she had to endure for the train ride to Turinene. Winry had been the one to contact her. She had never received a phone call from Winry asking her to travel with her to aid with automail repairs; she was always fiercely independent, just like her parents. That was why it was unusual that Winry had begged for her grandmother to come to Turinene.

She had had to say but one word to convince the older woman to come: "Ed".

The fool made his own sorry way back to Resembool if he needed repairs. Alphonse was usually in a state as well. It made Pinako want to whack them both in the head with a wrench, but Winry saw to that.

Pinako could barely remember the times that Winry had to travel to Central or goodness-knows-where for Ed and their other customers. This was only if Ed was incapacitated in hospital or physically unable to make it on the train. She was just very confused about being called away from her business…

She had closed up the shop for a week and had a specialist coming from Rush Valley to run the business for her while she was away. He was an old drinking friend and she knew him well. With those matters attended to, she had boarded the first train to depart to East City, where she had caught the exchange to take her to Turinene.

It was a quaint place, she had heard. The town was famous for its markets and fountain. But apart from that, it was a quiet farming town in the East Area. There was nothing unusual about it. And therefore, there was no reason why Ed should have broken his automail and needed maintenance.

Why had Winry called her? She had refused to elaborate on the phone.

And that meant that there was something seriously wrong with Ed and likely Alphonse too. There was no choice to be made. She would be by their sides by the evening.

 _Trisha, make sure your boys can hold out until I get there,_ she silently asked the boy's mother, who had loved them so much. Pinako had been there when both of them had been born. She thought the world of them, but she would never be Trisha. She hoped her strength would be enough.

Her thoughts rolled back to a strange encounter she had experienced that morning. After a short time on the train from Resembool, the train had stopped outside of one of the many towns along the route. There were too many for her to remember. She had been dozing when an ageing man had rushed past the train platform. He had had greying hair and carried a suitcase. Around his neck had been a stethoscope. But he had dropped something that was red, looking around warily to see if anyone had noticed. He had been in too much of a rush to delay and had stuffed the crystal-like object into his pocket and hurried on his way.

For some reason Pinako recognised the object. Those brothers wittered on about so much alchemy that she lost track about what they said. However, she knew instinctively that that stone was important.

* * *

 _Sorry for the brief hiatus. I've just finished my exams and they had to be a priority. I've got lots planned for this story after this break, so thank you for sticking with me on this (very bumpy) ride!_

 _Hope you enjoy this update!_


	21. A Thousand Butterflies

A Thousand Butterflies

 _Ed knew where he was. He knew that he was dreaming, or more accurately, he was looking at a memory. It was something he didn't ever talk about…the thought made him shiver._

 _He watched his younger self boldly step up towards the Portal of Truth and slap it with his fist. Truth watched on, their head cocked and a smile arrogantly beamed across their face._

 _Ed had been so sure that he had found the answer to defeating Truth. He had believed that he had found a way to give Al's body back to him. And after Al had started to black out more often than not, Ed knew that he had no choice but find a way to bring Al back. When Al had blacked out and wouldn't wake up, the older Elric brother hadn't hesitated to perform human transmutation._

 _Ed had a life. He wouldn't give himself up for his brother- he wouldn't put his brother through that pain. But if cutting his lifespan by 10 years, and the memories and experiences he would forge, in return for bringing Alphonse back from the void was worth it. They would never use a Philosopher's Stone or anyone else to recover what they had lost through their own foolish mistakes._

 _In the end, Ed had known they would be the ones to sacrifice anything to bring the other back._

 _He loved Al so much and he didn't deserve the pain._

 _Ed had hypothesised that Al's soul was returning to his body and when he had blacked out for good, Ed believed Al's soul was standing at the Portal, drawn to his body. All the Fullmetal Alchemist had to do was change the connection point from Al's soul back to his body and bring Al, whole and complete, out of there._

 _Truth had watched Ed make his exchange and agreed happily to allow the younger Elric brother to leave the void._

 _Ed had been relieved to have his brother breathing and seeing the world with his own two eyes again. That was the only time Ed had properly sobbed since being fitted with automail._

 _But as the months went on, Ed knew the proposition he had made with Truth was_ far too simple. _Life wasn't a straight track from start to end; life was a complex maze where there were traps and dead ends. Edward couldn't allow his brother to die. And Ed would have given more than an arm to make that necessary._

 _In truth, he wanted to wait until they came to a solution together. But the brothers had run out of time and it had been the only way to save Al._

 _There had to be another way…_

 _It was too late for that though. Al had been returned to him, whole and safe. Ed however…_

 _He excelled at hiding how he felt. And ever since that day he had performed the human transmutation, he had felt disassociated from the world around him, as if part of him was trapped in a dream. He had not changed as a person- he was still Ed. But he found that after a passionate outburst, he would be weary; when his automail was exposed to the heat, he could feel his metal limbs dragging him down in ways he could ignore before. It seemed that in return to reuniting Al's connection to this world, Ed's own connection was severing._

 _He was a fucking fool for waiting to tell Al and Winry and the others. Ed shivered…what if Al insisted on restoring Ed's connection by returning to the suit of armour? He couldn't allow that happen to his baby brother._

 _Except that the brothers weren't children anymore. They had not been children for a long, long time._

 _There had to be a way._

 _The present-day Ed watched the conflict and turmoil swirling in his mind. And that didn't even begin the fucking torment of being unable to save himself or Al from NoName._

 _Ed suddenly saw the Gate in front of him. The doors gaped open and the Fullmetal Alchemist remembered the feeling of being unravelled and having the knowledge of the Universe poured into him. The ability which made him able to transmute without a transmutation circle, first free a soul from the Portal and then an entire body and soul. He had done it._

 _A part of him intuitively knew there was a way…he had to keep searching for it._

 _He had to keep fighting and find a way to get over this wake up wake up-_

"Wake up!"

Ed could hear someone calling to him, but there was no touch present there (don't touch me) and he opened his eyes slowly. That had been one of the few restful sleeps he had had, even if he had dreamt fitfully. He woke shocked, but well-rested.

He glanced up in the direction of the voice. Winry's voice was instantly recognisable. She sounded conflicted.

"I'm alright, Winry," he said apologetically. "I just had a dream."

"You were thrashing about," Winry admitted guiltily and Ed could sense her presence come closer to his. She smelt of grease and the countryside. This place was in the East, but it wasn't Resembool. She had looked beautiful in the field of daisies, her blue eyes gazing around wide with wonder-

And even if he could not see that again, he had to find a way to protect her smile.

"Actually…I've come to a realization," Ed claimed and he straightened up, despite the lancing pain that shot up and down his spine. "I don't deserve you and Al and Granny and the bastard-"

"That's not true, you dummy!" Winry cried. He couldn't make her shed tears yet. All he wanted was for her to smile when she saw him and Al with their original bodies. And if only half of that promise was true, he realized now that he wanted to fulfil that with all of his heart. He would fight.

"You didn't let me finish!" Ed retaliated and he could imagine his mechanic flinching in response to his sharp tone. "It's going to take a long time until…" he gestured down at his body. "And I can tell you everything. But I will tell you and Al this.

"Where is Al?"

"By your side, as he always is, idiot," she laughed and Ed felt the air move around him. Winry was reaching out for him. He smiled and took her hand (don't touch me but this is Winry she's the one I lo-) and he allowed Winry to guide his touch to Al.

Al…with his real body. He would have given up so much more to bring Alphonse back. But Edward had risked his own life in the process and had broken his promise with Al. They should have gotten their bodies back together. Ed wasn't going to be a coward forever.

He rested his head on Al's shoulder, listening to his gentle brother's heartbeat and quiet breathing. His heartrate increased as he began to wake up and Al's body wriggled in that state between consciousness and unconsciousness. Al sighed and buried his head into the side of Ed's neck and Ed reached up to rub Al's hair. It was soft like a feathery nest.

And despite how parts of his world had crumbled to ash, there was still so much beauty to it.

Ed wanted to shake his head; he was the last one to be poetical.

"Winry, I need you to write down what I tell you and show it to Al. You deserve to know everything, and I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be," she whispered and before Ed could flinch, she kissed his forehead and retreated backwards. He could hear her laughing.

* * *

Hawkeye had to do everything in her power to remain neutral as Kimblee returned to the office with a hooded individual.

The 'stranger' uncovered their hood and revealed their face. She looked into the eyes of the alchemic doctor, Tim Marcoh. There was no mistaking him. He quickly lowered his gaze and stared at the floor and muttered a quiet greeting. She had seen it in his eyes too. The accumulation of guilt of causing the deaths of countless innocent Ishvalans. Riza had her motives to fight; she would likely never know his. But the Civil War still tormented him too. The souls of the restless dead would bring nightmares to them for the rest of their lives.

Kimblee remained unfazed by the death and destruction he had caused. She was not too familiar with the alliances made in Ishval between members of the Amestrian military, but she was aware there had been communication between the former Crystal and Crimson Alchemists.

She wondered how Kimblee had managed to find Marcoh, who had been known to become a recluse after the war. However, Armstrong had already voiced her thoughts:

"Dr Marcoh. It is a pleasure to meet you," he took her extended hand shakily and Viola nodded to herself.

"I understand you are acquainted with Major Kimblee here. I want to hear your perspective on the matters…alone," she glared at Kimblee who was taking more interest in blowing away a dust speck that had appeared on his suit.

"It is alright, there is nothing I need to hide," Marcoh attempted to make a joke, but he coughed and the effort was an awkward lapse of silence for a moment.

Riza listened to the account that the doctor made. She knew that the colonel was in the adjacent room listening to the conversation, and she had to admit she was proud of him for not interjecting. She had expected balls of flame to be blasted into the room by now. Her superior officer was finally learning patience.

She glanced in the doctor's direction, and memorised the words he spoke, but her attention was divided to the actions of Kimblee that she saw in her peripheral vision. The man had stopped inspecting his jacket and instead one of his hands was fumbling about in his pocket as if to check if something was there. He made frequent peculiar swallowing motions too. And he had a wide smirk about his face.

Lieutenant Hawkeye was called the Hawk's Eye not just for her ability to be a sniper, but because she could notice every minute detail. Kimblee's body language betrayed his cool demeanour; he was in an anticipatory mood.

"I retired in the West Area to be away from Ishval," Marcoh said. "An acquaintance of mine had heard about Kimblee's release from prison and wishes to make amends with the other soldiers present at Ishval. The Major has been nothing but kind and generous to me. He has had a change of heart."

 _Lies,_ Hawkeye thought. And from the tense position of Viola Cadence, it appeared that Marcoh's claim was not fooling her too.

"Can you explain the unprovoked attack on my hospital then?" she snapped and Marcoh's eyes widened.

"It was a hasty decision, we cannot doubt that. However, Major Kimblee could not risk the possibility of letting his brother run free if he was present here," Marcoh claimed, his left knee rising up and down rapidly. It must have been a nervous tick he had developed. She found herself biting her lip and slowed her breathing. Her colonel needed her, but Lieutenant Colonel Hughes and Sergeant Fuery were missing in the tunnels. It was unwise to pursue them when the risks associated were huge. But she knew that Colonel Mustang would do anything to find and protect them. The tunnels had become this expansive, forbidden place that the staff at the hospital refused to talk about, like a place of legend. Hawkeye knew that Einar Kimblee's plan to become a deranged alchemist had been successful and the tunnels were his domain, but she couldn't remain at the hospital for much longer.

Her mind was torn between the urge to run into the tunnels and rescue her allies and remaining by the side of her superior officer as she had promised. Damn that leg.

Damn that bastard Kimblee!

She straightened her already-perfect posture on the chair and blinked when the eyes of the room were focused on _her._

 _-How can you expect to protect the people you care about when you cannot even protect your own back?-_

 _I was_ thinking.

 _-There are many things you won't think about. Why don't you remember the truth, you fucking murdering bitch?-_

 _I've. Had. Enough. I've had enough of you._

 _-Reality never goes to plan, we are afraid, Lieutenant Hawkeye. Take this advice: get a grip, and fast, before we take over.-_

 _Never,_ she cried into her mind and stared blankly at Marcoh.

"I'm sorry, Dr Marcoh. Could you repeat yourself?" Hawkeye asked, and she realised she was biting her bloodied lips again (stop it).

"Of course. This is a lot of information to process, I'm sure," he said sympathetically. "The acquaintance I mentioned earlier is here with us. Together we should be able to treat the Flame and Fullmetal Alchemists, as well as Fullmetal's brother and anyone who has been injured thus far."

There was a slight _thump_ on the wall to the side. Riza started talking without thinking about it.

"How is that possible? Even with alchemy, their wounds would take months to heal-"

"Anything is possible, Lieutenant Hawkeye," Kimblee said simply and he rose to his feet. "We'll give you time to think about our proposition."

"What do you want, Kimblee?" Viola growled, her hands on her hips, her presence filling the room.

"Just your cooperation," he muttered vaguely, waving his hand with his hat and escorting himself out of the office. Marcoh rose to his feet slower and nodded at the two women before exiting the room too.

Until Riza and Viola could see that the two alchemists had vacated the property and were travelling back to their base across the lawn, the latter slapped her fist on the wall. "Colonel Mustang, if you thought you could snoop about my mansion, you are mistaken!"

They stepped out of the office and into the next room where they were stopped at seeing this strange sight. There was Mustang leaning forward in a wheelchair with his body angled towards the wall (obviously to snoop) and his hands had Major Armstrong pinned to the wall.

"Apologies for the noise. Major Armstrong noticed my absence and sniffed out my trail," Roy said neutrally as if the situation was the most normal thing in the world. And the team had seen a lot of strange things.

Speaking of, it took Alex Louis a total of thirteen seconds to remove his shirt and embrace his relative tightly, tears and sparkles accompanying him.

When the Major could finally be calmed down, Hawkeye resumed her position by her superior's side. His fists were clasped, and it was clear to her that he was thinking about having his broken leg healed with alchemy. Kimblee had seen the state of the Elric brothers' bodies and if he and Marcoh were confident that they could be healed, then Mustang's leg should not be a hindrance for them.

And then they could come up with an action plan.

"How do you think the shop is coming along?" she asked. _How are the other team members faring?_

He rubbed his greasy hair out of his eyes, "Kate and Maria must be exhausted having dealt with the angry customer all day. Jacqueline is on leave and she's bored out of her socks."

He did not need to explain. She knew.

The colonel wanted nothing more than to stand up and walk on his own two legs to help his team. But only if he could help the Elric brothers.

"What are we going to do then, Mustang?" Viola had managed to cease Alex's demand for affection. Major Armstrong turned to face him too.

Mustang took a deep breath and announced in his authoritative tone reserved when giving orders, "I am going to take the offer of the Crimson Alchemist and Doctor Marcoh. Unfortunately, I am not in the position to refuse. Not when there is much to do."

Viola nodded her head in acquiescence and Armstrong wiped his teary eyes with one of his beefy hands. The former grabbed the hulking man by the arm and paced to the door, "I will inform them of your decision.

Hawkeye closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling softly. They would be able to carry on with their mission.

"Lieutenant, do you think I am a fool?" he said, face expressionless.

"Yes, Sir."

"You're meant to support your superior officer, Lieutenant!" he cried suddenly, his hands rising above his head where he held them.

"I have better judgement than you, Sir."

"…Very well, Lieutenant. Answer me this then. Is the desire to save one man a selfish one, even if it means consorting with the enemy?"

"Yes, Sir," she answered, and he finally met her gaze. "Permission to speak freely, Sir?"

"Granted."

"You are an idiot, but I know you will find a way through this. We believe in you, Sir," she said softly, her chocolate-coloured eyes warm.

"Let us find the Elric brothers then," Roy smirked. "I have a plan to set in motion. Stay by my side, Lieutenant."

"Always, Sir."

* * *

"Goddamn you, Brother!" Al shrieked. The hospital staff tried to ignore his refute and carry on with their duties like normal, but when the Elric brothers arrived anywhere, pandemonium quickly followed.

"Al…" Ed began.

"Y-you're such an idiot! A dumb idiotic brother. H-how could you sa-ve my lairfe and nauht care abourt your owngh?" Al shouted, and the fact that he couldn't hear Ed only aided in making the young man's voice bellow even louder. His efforts to enunciate his words became lost as he vented, and Ed had to shake his head and mouth carefully:

"I can't follow you, Al. Write it down and Win will read it," Ed mouthed as he heard Al harrumph.

"Brother. Idiot. Not…alone. Burden not yours…alone. I will…body back…get," Al struggled slowly but Ed understood his brother and words didn't have to pass between the two of them.

"I know, Al. I'm so sorry," Ed gulped waiting for Al to hit him or kick him or do _something_ but then he heard his brother's voice choke as he started sobbing.

"Ed…"

"You're incredible, Al. Don't forget that," Ed said soothingly, and even if Al couldn't hear him and he couldn't see Al's beautiful face, they were alive and they were broken but they would do their best to fight.

They remained there for a while until Winry returned. She had phoned Granny with her to help with the repairs and had left to pick her up from the train station. Winry had initially been reluctant to leave Ed and Al. However, after teasing Winry about a particular incident that happened earlier, she had picked up her bag and left without another word. Ed couldn't help but smile at the thought.

He could not wait for Granny to get to the hospital, even if she was being a reckless old bat disregarding her own safety. But Ed was aware more than others that she would trek across the desert for him, Al and Winry. Ed could only hope to rival her stubbornness. Winry was his mechanic and Granny assisted when both his arm and leg required repairs. The designs and mechanisms were of Winry's creation though. Granny's coming was like a false promise- a part of him thought that when Granny arrived, they both could help cure his ravaged body.

They couldn't cure Al instantly either.

Ed was aware that he had warred with Death's touch for a while. He was not as perturbed as he should have been. Maybe it was because he had endured the worst and come out the other side. Nothing had been more painful, mentally and physically, than having the alchemic voltage run through his veins. Kimblee pain _agony-_

He sighed. The pain was barely noticeable anymore. He had habituated to it.

That was a good sign, but he was still constantly weary- if he left his back free and defenceless then he could-

"Hey, Fullmetal," the bastard said cockily. Ed didn't have to see his face to know the damn colonel was smirking.

Ed jolted at the noise but quickly calmed himself, "what do you want, bastard?"

The colonel stepped towards him, "I need to talk to you about Tim Marcoh."

Ed recognised that name, but before he could reply, he could hear the colonel's footsteps again. Wait- how could the colonel _walk._

"Marcoh is here with the Crimson Alchemist," Ed was grateful that the bastard hadn't called him by his surname; otherwise Ed's mind would begin to shut down. It was pathetic, but that was the way things were currently. They would change. He would make it so when he was ready.

One step at a time.

"He healed your leg," Ed guessed. When the colonel grunted in the affirmative, Ed could feel the tingles rushing up his spine. Could he be cured? Could he stand on his own again? Could he get back his _eyesight_?

"But Marcoh wouldn't…" Ed started but his voice trailed off. Marcoh had changed his name and disappeared off the military's radar, and when he had met the doctor, it was clear he no longer wished to have any affiliation with the military. He had renounced his title of Crystal Alchemist and had instead chosen to live a reclusive, solitary life in a small town in the East. Ed was only acquaintances with the man, but he was sure he wouldn't be dragged back into military life that comfortably. Something wasn't adding up.

"I'll come to what services they can offer you in a moment, but first, I wanted to point out that Marcoh had help with the transmutation. Marcoh did nothing technical," Mustang heaved himself down beside Ed, keeping a respectful distance. "I was wondering if this Marcoh could perform alchemy in the first place."

In the past Ed would have hurled insults at his superior for suggesting such a far-fetched thing, but after all that he had seen and endured, he merely nodded. He had accepted that anything was possible in the shadow world, a world which he had been trapped in for six torturous weeks. And it seemed that the shadows were not finished with him after all…

 _-We are here.-_

 _I know. Now fuck off._

"Al and I have met him," Ed replied, lowering his voice to a whisper. "He shouldn't be here."

"Don't be so carefree, Fullmetal," Mustang scolded and Ed could imagine his irritated scowl. But Ed understood- it was likely that the enemy had surrounded him.

"Yes, Sir," Ed answered mockingly and then rolled his blind eyes, "so your leg is healed. You're such a bastard."

"I knew you would initially be against me using the help of the Philosopher's Stone," Ed's head turned sharply to face Roy when he said that so casually, "Marcoh and the other doctor made me aware. They also told me the Stone was a product from the Ishvalan Civil War. However, I have sworn my services to Ishval…and I will repay the souls back for their generosity."

"Damn righteous bastard," Ed repeated, hoping the 'bastard' part had been emphasised for the colonel.

"So what will you do, knowing that the Stone is most likely an enemy's weapon? I need to find my men, and I'm running out of time. What will you do?" Roy said

There were so many options for the Fullmetal Alchemist to choose from. He had the option…of being freed from this grey-black-white-hellish void. Every waking moment he had subconsciously hoped and prayed for a lease. And now he was being given a way, literally dumped on him when he had done nothing at all, he clasped his fist, his body shaking pathetically. He would…see. But he had done nothing. He had been the one to allow NoName to use the alchemic voltage. There was nothing damn equivalent about it!

If Edward had the say for Al, he would force Al to be use the Stone to its full capacity, so that his little brother did not even feel aches. However, Al was his own person and had to make his own decisions.

The future was infinite, and Ed thought of the Butterfly Effect. Change one thing, and a whole string of consequences could unfold. Just like what he did when he brought Al's body back. He didn't _think._ He _acted._ And while he was renowned for being reckless, he should not have been, especially when it involved human lives. Ed understood that he could not simply have everything handed back to him; he needed to _earn_ it.

Was his eyesight fixable anyway? It had been taken in exchange, along with much of his willpower and spirit, for the alchemic voltage.

The alchemist's mind was working unconsciously. The alchemic voltage was a new branch of artificial alchemy, but it still had to follow the laws! Equivalent Exchange-

It was a hypothesis, but if he and Al were able to channel the alchemic voltage into themselves, they would be able to exchange that for their sight and hearing! Ed started laughing, and the action fucking hurt, but he kept on laughing, his voice becoming louder and less controlled as it reached a climax.

"Who knew you could think about anything, Fullmetal," Roy said seriously and Ed wanted to hit the man. This was the first fucking time he had truly felt euphoric since he had watched Al eat that ice cream when they arrived in Turinene. And the bastard was ruining it.

"I can, bastard," Ed seethed, throwing an insult at his superior officer, "what were you doing in that time?"

"Explaining to Alphonse the situation. He's staring at you and trying his best not to laugh right now," Roy replied, and from his side, Ed could hear Al snigger. It was disguised perfectly and if he had not been paying attention, he would not have known. He had assumed that his brother was asleep!

 _Goddamn you, Al._

"Bastard," Ed said as Roy coughed some incomprehensible insult before Ed continued, "make sure Al gets this message.

"We should use the Stone, but only to help the wounds inflicted by… _him._ We don't need this damn festering skin and be riddled with infections," Ed attempted to lift himself and failed miserably, slumping back to the floor once again. "We agreed not to use the Stone to restore our bodies, but this wasn't _our fault._ "

Ed waited in anticipation as Roy 'translated' Al's reply for him.

"He agrees with you. But he is worried about using other lives for his own."

Ed turned to face his brother directly and reached out. A hand found his immediately, "Al…we cannot live like this. We have so much to do. Places to go, people to _help._ We've decided to dedicate our lives to that cause, and the Ishvalan people will understand that."

It felt that seconds had passed when Ed was being gently moved towards a transmutation circle that the doctors had sketched, he was assured by Mustang.

The man had left through the tunnels with Hawkeye and Havoc to find Hughes and Fuery as soon as he was deemed fit to go by Viola. They were the ones pursuing NoName, even though it was Ed and Al that had led to their involvement. Edward was powerless to change the past, although he was far from hopeless; he had control of the future. While Ed was the one to resort to action and Roy the one to work behind the scenes, it appeared that their roles had reversed.

But Edward had his own work cut out. Why was Kimblee here? And why had he likely brought an imposter with him?

Those questions would not have to wait much longer after the transmutation was completed. However, his heart was racing and the voices around him sounded like the scurrying of rats in sewers, like in the room he had been chained in.

Someone might have asked him if he was ready and he may have nodded but he did not know all that he was aware of was the pounding of blood rushing into his skull-

There was a crackle as the transmutation started.

Alchemy could accomplish amazing feats, but not without its price.

 _-Alchemy was what led you to losing your brother's body.-_

 _I got that back!_

 _-While breaking yourself apart in the process. How naïve and selfish you can be, boy.-_

 _Don't call me little!_

 _-Do not insinuate such frivolity. We are surprised you agreed to the transmutation, considering Kimblee swayed you off ever using alchemy again.-_

Kimblee.

Kimblee…

KIMBLEE! He was coming for him and oh fuck he could hear the transmutation crackling what was the bastard going to do this time who will he hear the screams of dying. Fuery was only the first one who would be next. How would he defend them if he was chained up?

Edward thrashed violently, kicking and punching with his bleeding and broken limbs that remained. He would break Kimblee's neck and the men who had fucked him. He was a dirty whore who deserved to die but HE DIDN'T WANT TO DIE GODDAMMIT!

He wanted to fight but he didn't know where Kimblee was he never could tell where that man was. He stared and watched Edward become weaker and weaker. The golden sunshine didn't care as he hurled his body wildly at the sounds that darted towards him from all angles. He had to save Al! Ed had no dignity remaining after he had been used and clawed by those filthy men (he may not have been awake but the marks on his back were there there _there_ ). He had pissed himself in fear when he had been attached to Fuery's radio and the alchemic voltage's wildfire had scorched his insides.

When would this end?

 _Please._

 _-We did not leave. We stayed, to give you some company.-_

 _Please, end this._

 _-End this or end you?-_

 _Please._

But even Edward Elric became too weak to think. He shivered and braced himself for the punch that would break his jaw or the fiery bite of the poker being imbedded into his stump or the touch of Kimblee's hand caressing his face-

Stop.

But it ensued.

Even though he was blind, he could feel the blood-red touch of the transmutation licking his soul and he heard the burns and screams of the people that the Stone contained-

The sounds suddenly stopped. Edward curled into a ball and prayed to God that it was over and Al was safe.

* * *

 _I loved writing this chapter- especially that little EdWin bit :) The crew cannot sit around any longer as they have work to do. The next chapter 'Ignite' will be up soon!_

 _Hope you enjoyed._


	22. Ignite

Ignite

There was no time to lose.

Colonel Roy Mustang melted like a shadow into the darkness that lingered within the depths of the tunnel. Every few seconds he snapped his ignition glove to light up the space around him before the flame snuffed out into the gloom. The tunnels were never-ending and fathomless; there was a beginning but there was no end. He could imagine those boys being trapped in the sickly underground for six weeks. Never seeing the Sun.

Forgetting what fresh air was like to breathe.

Alphonse would have felt like he was trapped in that stuffy suit of armour again.

And now his men needed him. He only wished he had not been so disorientated and sent some of the team members sooner. Major General Armstrong would have called him weak for not acting sooner. Survival of the Fittest or whatever the unsympathetic mantra was for her Briggs soldiers. Some officers would have not acted at all or sent their pawns to do their dirty work for them.

Roy could never do that. How could he leave his team members alone in the dark when they had risked their lives for him and their country on countless occasions? They were the ones who made the decisions that he was too weak to make and their bravery astounded him.

He only had to look to his right side to see his Queen. She had agreed to follow him into Hell and back, and here she was. This mission was not a part of her duty- she had chosen to stay true to her morals. Hawkeye's eyes were narrowed as she surveyed the surroundings, watching out for key changes in the brick walls that occupied this gloom. He could see the careful thought lined on her face as she counted the number of steps that would bring them to the place where the transmutation marks were. Even though Roy's path was a treacherous one and uncovering the corruption of the military involved in the making of Philosopher's Stones, which could result in the colonel and his subordinates being trialled as war criminals ( _I'll do my best to atone for my sins, people of Ishvala. I will I will I will)_ and found guilty. But Hawkeye shared his dearest wish to see the next generation safe from bloodshed. When he had enrolled as a member of the military, he had not expected to have his master's daughter choose to follow him. She had entrusted the secrets on her back to him and she unwavering watched his back. It was hardly Equivalent Exchange.

Mustang had entrusted his Rook to controlling operations back at Headquarters. Lieutenant Breda acted as a glue to hold his subordinates together if he was absent. He was a skilled politician, in terms that he knew which battles to fight and how to do so. Roy always heeded his advice and warnings, and in turn Breda admired the courage and dedication the colonel demonstrated to his staff. Roy would watch the danger from the front, and Hawkeye from the back, but Breda would guard the sides and ensure nobody was left behind.

The Knight jumped swiftly across the chessboard, surprising the opponent in the most unexpected ways. However, the Knight stayed true to its course and proved to be a valuable asset with its unique skillset. Jean Havoc had taken the longest to warm up to the colonel; he had heard of the tales of the Hero of Ishval growing up as a country boy in the east. But the Civil War had destroyed many rural towns; Havoc's had been grazed from the fighting. That had conjured up antagonistic feelings within the younger man. However, Roy found that Havoc needed someone to put their faith into him; he would not fail them. And although Havoc could become restless waiting, he would spring to battle with a single word.

Few others were blessed to have a walking encyclopaedia as one of their subordinates. But that was all many saw Warrant Officer Vato Falman for. He was so much more, even if the man denied the fact adamantly himself. Roy's Bishop knew his strengths and worked with the other members of the team to utilise his skills to the best of his ability. Like with the mission to Turinene, he knew that he would be more useful at HQ than accompanying the others on the mission. Roy trusted Falman to keep Breda from sneaking on one too many lunch breaks and to contact their commanding officer when necessary.

His Pawn. Never the weakest piece on the board. Never a piece for someone to walk over and give less than a shit about. All one had to do was watch and wait as Kain Fuery came out of his shell and the world saw him for the compassionate and intrinsic soldier he was. He adored the members of the team and the Elric brothers. As with Falman, he usually remained behind to work on strategy and communications; however, he had challenged his fears and decided to come to Turinene. He was the youngest and least experienced soldier. Fuery was afraid of the unknown, but that had not stopped him from reaching the end of the chessboard.

And Hughes…well he was just Hughes.

Roy could not be where he was without them. His strong legs carried him forwards to the Fuery and Hughes. Some of his team were by his side. Some had been left behind. But all of them would catch up and meet him at the top. Despite the gloom, the thought encouraged a smile to cross his face.

But first they had to go through Hell.

The first confrontation with Kimblee had been abysmal; Fuery was captured, he had shattered his leg and the brothers had been found in pieces. With alchemy, this would be one of the hardest battles. And he was still running on next to no sleep. He promised himself he could sleep for a weak when this was over. He could return to his office with its shit coffee and carry on to rise through the ranks until Roy could achieve his goal.

However, he found that his limbs ached less and the pounding in his head had dulled since the transmutation. 'Marcoh' and his acquaintance, or rather the acquaintance alone, had worked quickly and shown him the Stone. Roy had held the item for a few moments and asked the souls to grant his request. Aloud he had stated:

"People of the Ishvalan Desert. I am an alchemist that helped with the destruction of your people. I cannot atone for my sins and I seek not to ask you for forgiveness. Let me use you to help your people, but not to give me peace of mind. I only wish to return the Holy Land to your descendants still living."

He could have said so much more, but he had started babbling. Before tears could roll down his cheeks, he had told the doctors to start their transmutation. The Crimson Alchemist was nowhere to be found.

When the red crackle of the transmutation ended, his body simultaneously seized up in pain and he had coughed blood. But then he listened to the pumping of his heart. It thumped with a greater vigour, as if life had been poured back into his soul. Touching every corner of his body, he found the strength to rise and walk and _run._

 _Wait for me._

 _-What if you cannot stop Kimblee? That man is a menace.-_

 _I know dammit!_

And Roy found the strength to push his Shadow into the recesses of his mind, pooling it with bright light. Not only had he found himself possessing more physical strength, but the mental strength to fight off his demons had intensified too.

"Sir," and with that one word that Hawkeye muttered, Roy knew. This was it.

With his left hand he produced a spark and held it aloft. He rubbed his right hand across the transmutation marks; the alchemy looked flimsy, but still at a high enough standard to be missed if he did not have a markswoman standing by his side. With a flick of his wrist, he shoved off the right ignition glove and gasped.

There was a draught beneath the layers of brick!

More tunnels had to branch off from this main one. He indicated with a tilt of his head for Hawkeye and Havoc to feel for the draught. They nodded their heads in synchronisation, too wary to speak. Havoc snuffed out his cigarette with his boot and pocketed the remaining tobacco. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out the map of the tunnels. Hawkeye watched what he was doing and carefully marked an X with their position. True enough, there was a blank space correlating to their spot on the map.

So not only were there a secret stash of tunnels running through at least one town, but there was additional tunnel secret to the records. These must have been the tunnels that Kimblee had had excavated purely for his use.

Was there anything that this man had not thought of?

Roy swallowed the bile in his throat. There were no guards or signs of life around him. Had Kimblee planned to lure them into his trap all of this time?

Yet it was hard to rationalise the thinking of a madman.

Fuck the impossibility.

Roy gestured for the other two to step back and he sketched a transmutation circle into the ground, not the wall. He was not going to fall into the deranged doctor's hands that easily. He had to rummage through his mind for the alchemic formula needed to transmute concrete.

Slapping his palms onto the array, the concrete shifted willingly in front of him, forming a makeshift ladder with footholds. He climbed down first and once he had climbed down about six feet, he drew another transmutation circle on the side of concrete directly below where he had found the transmutation marks. Nobody should have attempted alchemy that was this dangerous; the chances of failure were high. The only person who would have been this reckless transmuting this much concrete was Fullmetal, who had opened the Portal and also specialised with rock and metal in his alchemy.

Roy liked fire. He liked the finite art of calculating how much flammable gas he needed to combust to draw the results he needed. And how he could temper fire to be a roaring inferno or a gentle ember. It was a far more delicate art than hurling rocks into the air. Roy inwardly chuckled: he could hear Fullmetal's protests in his mind.

Fullmetal had given Roy his fair share of verbal abuse over the years and Roy had made an effort to remember only the best comebacks. He didn't know why but with the fiery alchemist, Roy found himself having a _short_ -term memory.

What was it that Edward had said about transmuting large masses of rock?

 _"You always need a support, otherwise the structure will crumble later on. Simple really."_

 _It was simple for a prodigy, obviously,_ Roy thought, his brow creased.

Concrete was relatively fire-proof, so it could not be used as a structural booster. Roy thought about the components of concrete: aggregate, cement and water. When the ratio of water to cement was higher, this made the concrete weaker. Therefore, if he evaporated some of the water from its integral structure, the concrete would become stronger. The transmutation was simpler than he thought.

 _Fullmetal, you were right this once._

With another flash of blue, the alchemy's work was completed.

Lighting his flame again to the barest of flickers, Havoc and Hawkeye joined him in this makeshift tunnel and together, they began to journey towards the belly of Hell or whatever else was hidden down here.

* * *

He blinked his eyes open slowly. And he waited for the torrent of pain to flood through his essence, choking him and suffocating him while he tried t breathe through the drowning agony. He waited-

Nothing.

Alphonse wondered if he was dreaming. But even then, the pain persevered and followed him into the night-time realm. Sleep offered little solace, unless he had taken painkillers. Medication could not be the answer to everything though.

So he was confused. This experience was similar when he had first awoken in his real body. He had gone from a lack of feeling and gaining the sensation of touch again. The pain was his companion. Without it…there was nothing was ground him, remind him what a useless pathetic boy he was-

Al blinked again and rubbed his eyes with arms that did not hurt. He leaned forward and braced himself for the torrent of pain that rushed through his legs and hips when he tried to stand up. Shakily, one leg lifted itself up, followed quickly by the other leg. He may have pulled the sheets to the side on the bed and he may have tugged out the IV but he was running, soaring.

He was flying.

This quiet world was his and he was free. Free from the pain and NoName and the memories of those six weeks settled like feathers for the first time. He could look at them without his gut tightening. He could see people chattering in the background as he sprinted across the hospital ward, but nobody made any move to stop him. The younger Elric brother was not bound to that floor by chains anymore. Al didn't have to return to the room. He was safe and free and it was the most exhilarating sensation in the world.

His bare feet tingled as they came into contact with the floor each time. But the feeling was fleeting because his foot was rising above the ground immediately after they made contact. The white hospital gown billowed out behind him. Suddenly, his leg cramped. Al stopped, panting with his hands on his knees.

Of course. His body was still weak. Even if he had been healed, he couldn't overexert himself.

Through the floor, Al could feel the vibration of footsteps. He turned around and saw an overwhelmed Major Armstrong rush up towards him, shirt abandoned and grasped him into a hug. Al barely had time to hold his breath before he was squished by the muscular man, who was crying onto Al's face.

In the back of his mind, Al knew that he still was not able to hear. But still he thought he could hear the major crying his name.

Al thumped his fist on the back of Armstrong's neck, and he was finally put down. Al had to take several moments to find his breath. And as Al looked up at the major's worried eyes, Al realized that he was not with his brother (was he okay?) and he needed to find his brother (right now right now).

"Ed…" he gasped, moving his head from left to right as if he hoped his brother was just coming back from the bathroom. Or Brother had found a convenient place to nap. Or Brother had left to clear up the mess they had both left behind.

Alex Louis nodded and offered Al a hand. Al took the offer and was lifted to his feet. His heart was thumping, and it was not from the running.

The walk to Ed was long and laborious. It took seconds- The walk to Ed was long and laborious. It took seconds- _years._ Al could not control his heart rate during that time. When he willed his worried body to relax, it stiffened and his heart would accelerate again. He needed to see Edward. And that was all.

There was a curtain drawn around Brother's bed. The Armstrong doctor swept the curtain back and the surprise was evident on her face when she saw him accompanying the major. She exchanged a few words with Alex before she gestured for Al to go on ahead. Viola Cadence carried on with her other duties around the mansion.

As he tentatively took several small steps forward, Al realized that Armstrong had remained where he was. The beefy man nodded and Al smiled. His fist clamped. He could do this. It was Brother. And he was alive. He had started pulling the curtain to the side when a flying wrench landed on his face.

Al saw his brother's flesh leg kick in the air alongside his automail leg. Granny Pinako let go of her grip of Ed's leg and Winry opposite her released the grip of Ed's arm. He sat up abruptly and began to test the automail, his eyes closed and a serious expression on his face.

Ed then stiffened.

"Al?"

And then Winry turned around, remembering her wrench and she saw Al. Without waiting for the tears to fall down her face, she flung herself towards the younger Elric brother and Al welcomed the embrace. Granny Pinako hesitated, but then she shook her head and hobbled up towards Al to hug him around the legs too.

Al gazed past them. Ed was staring at him, his glazed golden eyes seeing nothing but everything. He leapt out of bed and took three confident steps towards Al.

"I will always find you," Ed mouthed, and his short hair had been washed and cut. Still, it was strange to see Ed without the lustrous golden wave falling down his back. And he too joined the embrace of their little family.

Al was happy to be held by them for a long moment. He knew that none of them were speaking, and instead their actions were expressing what words did not need to.

However, Al's stomach grumbled which caused the hug to dissipate and the others to begin laughing. Al blushed and sat down on the edge of the bed as Ed's expression changed from being light-hearted to thoughtful. His mouth opened and closed. Viola Cadence appeared and she nodded in response to Ed's short replies.

He relayed to Al about the successful transmutations, but how his mind had slipped again. He had been sedated and awoken to calmness. The memories of Kimblee remained. He told this with the help of Granny and Winry. Both had supported them through so much. He and Ed had already come so far- they could talk about what happened like it was a nightmare. That was all that it was…

But it would take a long time yet before he could accept that the nightmare had passed.

 _Small steps, Al._

* * *

 _She wished she could pierce their gut with her spears. Not that it would achieve anything after Envy regenerated, but her androgynous sibling was being more of a nuisance than they usually were._

 _"Lust, why is Envy so happy?" Gluttony asked innocently by her side. Lust leaned back on the pipe she was resting on and stared up at the cavernous ceiling, lined with pipes pumping Philosopher's Stones across the city and country. The plan Father had set in motion was in its final stage. Their father had waited for four hundred years for the moment. She had been alive for over half of that time, since she was the second Homunculus to be born._

 _Even Gluttony, who was just over a hundred years old, had learnt the value of patience better than Envy. They were dancing around the lair, feet stomping and Lust closed her eyes, hoping her patience was not worn any thinner. She did not have much patience remaining and if she snapped-_

 _It was not an attractive sight._

 _"Who knows, Gluttony? I do not know how that fool and I came from the same essence," Lust complained miserably, extending her claws and retracting them to pass the time. "It should not be long before Pride debriefs us about the next stage of the mission."_

 _"Will I get to eat someone?" Gluttony asked, eyes wide with anticipation._

 _"Oh yes," she smirked. Lust retracted her claws and cupped Gluttony's cheek with her hand, "there have been lots of naughty humans. You can eat the naughtiest."_

 _She patted her sibling on the head and turned back to face Envy. They had just noticed that Gluttony was no longer listening to them._

 _Sloth was out excavating with Pride keeping watch, while Pride gathered intelligence with Wrath on the surface. Father was making preparations with the golden tooth doctor (Lust did not waste her energy to remember his name). And Greed had not been spoken of for a hundred years._

 _That left her and Gluttony to be Envy's source of entertainment._

 _"And the best part is, both of the Kimblee brothers believe we're on their side! Those miserable humans have a taste for power and they're so quick to lap it up, it's hilarious!" Envy cackled, stepping up towards Lust and changing their form. A second later there was a man with greying hair, brown eyes and brown hair. She had not been acquainted with him personally, but she knew that the Iron Blood Alchemist had recruited him to make the Ishvalan Philosopher's Stone._

 _"Doctor Marcoh?" she guessed, playing along with Envy, although she could not deny that she was intrigued._

 _"Correct, ten souls for Lust," the younger Homunculus joked, and when Lust did not reply, they continued: "I'm leaving now, anyway. I just came to say goodbye to my favourite sister!"_

 _"Your only sister…" Lust drawled._

 _"Still, I don't know why Father wants a crest of blood in Turinene. It isn't even a part of the nationwide transmutation circle…" Envy mused, still in the guise of Marcoh._

 _"We trust Father and Pride," Lust cut Envy short. It was well-known amongst the Homunculi that her and Pride were the ones to obey Father. She had thought it over and deduced it was because they had been extracted first, meaning their essences were closest to Father's. Greed had defied that theory, but he was a wasted thought._

 _She was not an alchemist or a human. She was something far more superior._

 _"I might see you there, I might not," Envy laughed as they spun towards the exit of the lair. "I'll tell the Fullmetal pipsqueak you said hi!"_

* * *

The plan was in motion, but she had to confirm with the older woman once more.

"Are you certain?" Viola Cadence asked for the third time, albeit phrased slightly differently.

"Yes, that doctor alchemist was not from the West Area. He was running along a station platform, shifty as ever, trying not to be noticed by the damn military!" Pinako protested, her hand fiddling with the pipe in her lap.

The Elric brothers and the blonde mechanic sat on the bed together. Pinako was sitting forward in a chair and Viola occupied the other. Michael and Alex stood behind her, the brains and muscle respectively.

Through the woman's glasses, she saw her eyes. And there were no lies buried within there. Viola gained the impression that Pinako Rockbell spoke her mind, or if she did not think you were worth the effort, she would not speak at all.

"That man that Kimblee brought with him must be an imposter then," Viola mused. Solf J. Kimblee had shown up with two alchemic doctors knowing the situation the Elric brothers were in. It was already too suspicious to believe. Viola had accepted and gone along with their plans however; the Elric brothers were in critical condition and as a doctor, she put her patient's needs first. However, she had a family with a rich history with the military, and she could not tolerate traitors and miscreants.

Many saw this side of her to be similar to her relative Oliver Mira Armstrong.

"Kimblee's squadron is ready to depart for the town centre," Michael announced, revealing nothing on his face.

 _Another bizarre thing,_ Viola thought, twiddling a finger through her hair. _As soon as the Elric brothers have been healed and Mustang's men have gone for a run around in the tunnels, Kimblee is adamant to reach the town centre. It does not add up._

"Good. We will be joining him shortly," Viola stood up at the back of her chair. "I did have one quick question for you, Edward."

"Hmmm?" the blind alchemist looked up expectantly.

"The reason that Kimblee wants to go to the town centre is due to something alchemical, am I correct?" Viola asked.

Without hesitation, Ed nodded, "probably. The centre of a circle is a grounding aspect of an array. It enables an array to remain stable long enough for the transmutation to take place.

"Even if an alchemist activates an array from the edge, the transmutation always begins from the centre."

"That's where that bastard is going then," Pinako muttered through gritted teeth.

"But why?" Winry interrupted. She gazed at Edward and Alphonse and straight at Viola. The Elric brothers were her patients, just as they were Viola's. There was an element deep within her that wanted them to see no harm. However, the rational side of her mind quelled the compassionate one- it was logic and tactics that won a fight, which is what they needed now.

"We chose this path. We must walk it," Edward said almost sarcastically as he rubbed his automail leg. Without Winry, he wouldn't have been able to walk.

"Will you be okay though?" Winry cried, her face evidently straining to hide away her tears.

"We'll be back," Ed promised, facing her direction. "You're needed here. But it won't be long. Wait for us here."

"I won't!" she shouted, slamming Ed's shoulder. The boy gasped and his eyes widened, but it was from shock rather than an approaching flashback.

"Fine then, dumbass. We will wait for you," Ed sighed, scratching his short hair.

"Better," Winry said smiling, swinging her legs contentedly into the air, humming a melody.

"Enough gossip. We have work to do," Viola turned her back on the hospital bed and headed towards the front door of her mansion. They had discussed and arranged their plan, and now they had to carry it through. What the enemy had planned, she had no idea.

She only hoped it was not too late to salvage the damage apparently done to Turinene from the shadows.

* * *

 _I'm sorry I have to be so vague about the plans, but I cannot spoil the finale (it's going to be long like the Promised Day, don't you worry). I'm expecting there to be about 4-5 chapters for this, but this could depend based on what the characters want to do. We'll have to see :)_

 _Hope you enjoyed!_


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